



Class / 

Book -/' i c>v 1 




CJDFlCRIGllT DEPOSm 




/ 















Mf. 

> f V* " I 

.. ^ 





' VT 'VaNT^ ■ ':>iU 

•li#- ■^•4>l\-v- /'rfr! 

Vs-' rA«!r< id®;5 

• t - i •_*: mm 


■ *•• .' 




'-■A .r. 








I' 


f i f'- 

J-'n 


v; 


'* / 






ii 


• . « 




.* • 


' ^ 


t / 


% 




f /*• 


■ i :l 


• • 


> - 








<,h 5 ^ 


4 -* “• -J" •- ' ' V' ' ■/ 

‘ a- '^ ^ f ;-* 

,•■■■; , 

"* ■ / i^^iiT^-' ■ 

■ ,• 


i#V 


V 


...r 


•ki 




-4" 


■i •■*^.. 






11 % Hi , 


^ . 




« 




it^3£ty ; CT, 

j, " 


t r- 






'V.?: 


.» 




*■*« . 

‘i- 


L» 




ft ■ V, -■ .'^-- 

‘V' V . ?^v»;v • ■•'■• 'f-^v'*-' ^ 

IJU- ^ ‘ ■■!*«.* >. " - ' - - 




A*» 






[S^^ 


■s 




V- 




1 * • 


IT>^ 


i-^ 


M "VH, r I 




wij 


>%> 






y. ♦- 


J 




y.- 


A :; -::^ 


f- 


, » 


:;i/ 






• U 


.. \* V . 


S «€ 




A. 






• ■ 






r<'j- ■ T ■ t. 


^ 1 


La" 


:: >, 


iW 




i>. 





1 - 


J 






LIFTON K. ReVeRE. 


THE 

GARDEN OF 
FAITH 


By 

Clifton E. RfVfre. 


THE McLEAN COMPANY, 
Publishers, 
Baltimore, Md. 


Copyright, 

1916, 

Clifton E. ReVere. 



JAN -3 1917 


©CI,A446997 


DEDICATION. 


To those friends whose lives have taught me 
many beautiful truths ; whose faith and love has 
encouraged me to live more closely to my God, my 
fellowmen, and to myself ; who trusted in me when 
others failed to believe ; who saw good while oth- 
ers sought the evil ; to those friends, if such friends 
I have, I humbly dedicate this story, accompanying 
the dedication with an earnest — God bless you. 

C. E. R. 





CHAPTER L 


THE MAN BEGINS BEARING HIS 
BURDEN. 

While at Oxford, the companions of Keith 
Barrington had declared that he was not consti- 
tuted to live among other men. He was different, 
and he ought not live among those men whose 
very success in life depended upon strife and a 
jostling of one another about to gain the places 
of highest degree. As a child Keith had been a 
nervous dreamer, and he had developed into a 
nervous, easily agitated young man. 

After passing his days at Oxford, in practical 
isolation, he hastened back to his homeland and 
began wandering from one place to another, 
searching for material, he said, but down in the 
innermost shrine of his heart he knew it was to 
get away from the loneliness which had sur- 
rounded him since his mother’s death. 

Keith had loved his mother devotedly. Never 
having had the opportunity for knowing a father’s 
love, he had bestowed all the affection of his big, 
warm heart upon the one parent. Yet, in spite of 
all the loneliness that came to him through the 
loss of this loved one, he was ever busy. He 
worked like a man of fifty. One would scarcely 


5 


The Garden oe Faith. 


have taken him for a man of six and twenty. His 
hand turned many books upon the field of lite- 
rature — some good, many bad. 

From his earliest childhood Keith had car- 
ried a picture in his heart of — just what she would 
be like when he met her. He had not lived among 
the trees and flowers, among hills and crags, by 
rippling waters, under God’s good, blue sky, with- 
out having been able to paint this picture upon 
the canvas of his heart. In fact, he began paint- 
ing the picture when he was a knight in fairy- 
land, and she was his beautiful brown-eyed prin- 
cess. 

In fancy, many times when a little chap he had 
seen her dancing among the roses — the fragrant, 
dark red roses — in the garden behind the catalpa 
trees. It was at one of these times that he had 
told his mother of his little dream girl. “She’s the 
dearest little girl God ever made, mumsie,” he had 
said, as he lay curled in his mother’s lap, in the 
big swing beside the lilac bush, “and she’s danc- 
ing out there among the roses tonight. She is 
clapping her hands with joy, ’cause you see, she 
has just found out where I really and truly live 
when I’m not out o’ my body, and a livin’ with the 
fairies. O’ course you can’t see her, mumsie 
dear, ’cause you aren’t a fairy, and really, truly 
live people can’t see dream girls.” 


6 


The Man Begins Bearing His Burden. 


‘‘Of course mother can’t see your dream girl,, 
dearie,” his mother had replied, in her low, sweet 
voice. “God’s keeping her for you until you 
grow to be a man, and then there will be plenty of 
time for mother to see her.” 

“She’s a dream o’ a girl all right,” Keith had 
replied, as he curled himself down in his mother’s 
lap and watched the trees waving above him 
until God had sent the sand man and mother car- 
ried him into the house and placed him in his lit- 
tle bed in the box-like room opening from her 
own, where she might be near if in the night he 
chanced to awaken and cry, as he frequently did, 
“Mumsie, mumsie, bring me a drink o’ water 
quick ’fore I turn back to a really boy.” 

Mother would bring the drink and never ask 
a question. She had asked once and had received 
the reply, “Well, God made really, truly live peo- 
ple out o’ dirt, didn’t he? And if they drink 
water they might turn into mud, mightn’t they?” 

So, during all the years of his childhood, and 
the early days of his manhood, Keith had ever 
carried a picture of his dream-girl in his heart, 
and for this reason he wasn’t one bit surprised 
when he saw her. 

She was reclining lazily in the big, red plush 
seat, looking out at the beautiful God-made 
scenery as the train thundered along on its way. 


7 


The Garden oe Faith. 


The smoke from the engine blew in at the win- 
dow, and he had hastened to put it down. He 
couldn’t help but say the right thing; he came 
of a polite and cultured people. He offered her 
the book he carried in his hand, which she ac- 
cepted with a low acknowledgment of apprecia- 
tion. 

After that Keith had sat and watched her from 
out the corner of his eye. He wondered why she 
did not seem to know him. He knew her. He 
knew she was the little girl God had made for 
him. He knew she was his dream-girl — she was 
his dream companion, his elfin playmate of child- 
hood days. Many times, in those dear old days, 
he had seen her dancing to the humming music 
of the wee little bird of the Trochilidae family, 
as it darted in and out over the fragrant flowers. 

Keith had watched the fluffy mass of dark 
brown hair falling in tender ringlets about her 
pale, sweet face. He had watched the slender 
fingers as they turned the pages of the book, and 
always after that he had carried in his heart the 
picture she made. He also carried in his memory 
the one look she had given him from her big, 
brown eyes — a look of innocence, trust and purity. 

During the days immediately following this 
meeting in the train, Keith had met his dream girl 
daily. Faith Farrell had been visiting her aunt 


8 


The Man Begins Bearing His Burden. 


who had a cottage on Snake River, near the little 
town of Excello. Keith had stayed at the one 
hotel. 

He had gone to this timbered land to work. 
He was one of the few who understand that the 
greatest and noblest deeds of life are those which 
must be classed as the fruits of loneliness. Keith 
loved a land in its primitive naturalness. He felt 
that a man, in order to positively and truly de- 
clare himself, and to be at his best, ought to live 
next to the things of God. But during that visit 
to primitive nature Keith had done little work. 

There, in that spot in the heart of the wild- 
wood, Keith had taken many walks with his 
dream -girl. Together they had wandered down 
shaded dells, where to him the winding paths 
seemed made for the feet of fairy creatures. 
There, in that land of God’s, they had gone boat- 
ing upon waters shrouded in moonlight. There 
they had watched the constellations shining in 
the clear skies above. And there Keith had mur- 
mured sweet words in Faith’s ear, telling again 
the old, old story of love. He had told her how 
she was — and ever had been — the one brighest 
star that had ever shone in his heaven of happi- 
ness. She was — and ever had been — the one 
bright star which led him ever onward and up- 
ward, up, up to heights far beyond the termina- 


9 


The Garden oe Faith. 


tion of any path hitherto trod by man. 

In those days of love-making they had been 
so happy — so very, very happy. Keith had re- 
mained in the happy state, but somehow, since 
their marriage. Faith had seemed to grow tired 
of him. 

This morning, as Keith sat at his desk, he lived 
again the hours and the days of their love-making 
in the wooded land. He lived again the hours 
and the days and the weeks that made up their 
few months of wedded life. With trembling fin- 
gers he fumbled with the dark hair, which lay in 
a disheveled mass upon his pale, broad brow. In 
the depths of his dark gray eyes there was a look 
of anguish and despair. Keith had just learned 
that Faith had for some time been deceiving him. 
The note he had just found upon the table told 
him all. She was leaving — she was going with 
someone who could give her all the things for 
which her heart longed. She was going with 
someone who could make her happy. 

As his eyes wandered about the room a wee 
spark of joy seemed to fill them for a moment. 
Her hands had touched these books, no one could 
take that thought from him. She had sat in the 
little chair over there by the French window many 
times. It had been her favorite seat in the days 
following their return from their little house in 


10 


The Man Begins Bearing His Burden. 


the wooded land. She had sat there working at 
some flimsy, fancy work, while he bent over his 
writing unconscious of her presence. How happy 
he had been when he looked up and found her 
there. This sweet-faced thing was his. How his 
heart had beat with exultation at the thought. 

Now she was gone. Never again would he 
look up and find her there. Never again would 
her hands touch these books. “Never again — 
never again,” his heart kept repeating, though his 
lips refused to move. Slowly his chin fell upon 
his chest, his shoulders bent beneath the burden, 
and he covered his face with his hands and 
moaned; he could not weep, his despair was too 
great. 

Faith must be made free. She must be free to 
marry this other who was to give her all things, 
and to bring her happiness. He must not stand 
in her road. It was hard to do this thing. It was 
hard to snatch the one brightest celestial body 
from his heaven of light and felicity and place it 
in the firmament of another. “I can’t bear to 
make the little thing unhappy,” he murmured, 
“but oh, how can I do this thing — how can I give 
her to another — my Faith, my beautiful, brown- 
eyed, dream-girl?” 

Slowly he slipped to the floor. He hid his face 
in his hands and there on bended knees he sent 


11 


The; Garden oe Faith. 


unto God his petition. “God, dear God,” came in 
indistinct accents from his wounded, bleeding 
spirit, “don’t let my — dream-girl — suffer, as I — 
am suffering — never — never. And dear God, 
help me to make her happy. Thou didst — give — 
her to me, dear Lord, but I didn’t — know — how 
to keep her. I — was — too unworthy. Lord. God, 
if there — must be a price — paid for this thing — 
this thing — that she — has — done, — dear Lord, — 
let me pay it. It was all my fault. Lord. I should 
have been — more thoughtful — of her, but I 
wasn’t. So, God, remember to — let me pay — the 
price, and don’t let — my dream-girl pay.” 

Thus did the man, with whom my story has 
to deal, begin bearing his burden, and in the bear- 
ing of the burden the man was drawn nearer to 
his God. 


12 


CHAPTER II. 


AT THE POINT. 

Twenty miles to the north of the house in the 
city where Keith Barrington had begun bearing 
his burden, the country was a desolate, thinly 
populated woodland, made up of hills, valleys, 
crags and rippling streams. 

Uncle Johnny Gardner says : “The folks what 
lives off down thar in the city comes up here a 
thinkin’ they be our betters, but matter o’ course 
they aint.” 

Uncle Johnny was right about this, for the peo- 
ple living here among these hills and valleys were 
a giant people with giant hearts. Of all the peo- 
ple living in the hill country Uncle Johnny was 
the shortest. In fact he was the only one of 
short stature. His short legs were always en- 
closed in three pairs of trousers, each pair being 
about eight inches too long, making it essential 
for him to turn about eight inches of three pairs 
of trousers’ legs up around his limbs. 

Upon one occasion a traveler from the city 
while stopping at the Point during the hottest 
of the summer weather, questioned him: “Uncle 
Johnny, what makes you wear three pairs of 
trousers in this hot weather?” 


13 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


‘T gaddy,” the old man replied, as he plied his 
hammer with vigor. “What’ll keep out the cold 
’ll keep out the heat.” 

Uncle Johnny was a cooper by trade having his 
shop next to the blacksmith shop over on the 
Point. He was a cheerful, good-natured old soul, 
who sang as he worked, and worked as he sang. 
Everybody in the country, for miles around, knew 
him, and likewise everybody loved him. Uncle 
Johnny says: “I gaddy; I tell ye it’s everybidy’s 
God-given duty to go to the burryin’s.” At one 
time, when he had neglected his work in order 
to go to a funeral, his pretty niece had asked 
him: “Uncle Johnny, what made ye leave all that 
work to go that funeral?” 

“I gaddy, Annie Devers, I reckon if I don’t 
go to none of these burryin’s o’ these folks what 
dies they won’t be none o’ them come to mine.” 

The one railroad running through the hill 
country had a station at the Point. The Point 
also boasted of a postoffice, a store, a mill, a saloon 
and a livery barn, besides the blacksmith shop 
and the cooper shop just mentioned. 

The postoffice occupied a space about three 
feet square, in one corner of the store. Sal 
Brody, Bill Brody’s “woman,” acted as post- 
mistress. The office was fitted with equipment 
fully adequate to the service. A home-made box. 


14 


At The: Point. 


upon a home-made table, was divided into ten 
pigeon holes. In a drawer beneath the table were 
stamps and envelopes. 

Ann reigned supreme over this space of “guv’- 
ment” property. It may also be said that the 
very mysterious things of the office lost none of 
their mystery as long as Ann held her position. 

Today Ann took the wonderful pouch from 
the hands of the depot agent, and with silent 
dignity she reached for the key which hung 
fastened to the table by a chain — the key and 
chain being furnished by the “guv’ment.” Un- 
locking the mysterious bag she turned it bottom 
side up, and gave it a shake, after which she 
peeped in to make sure there was nothing left 
sticking to the bottom. ‘'A person what works 
fur the ‘guv'ment’ has to be so keerful,” she said 
as she picked up the three letters and one paper, 
which made up the day’s mail. “The Postoffice 
Inspector says I mustn’t leave nothin’ in the 
pouch, but la me, they don’t never seem to be 
nothin’ to leave.” 

In happy expectation the hill people stood 
around, while the worthy one held the letters up 
and examined them. “La me, I never did see the 
beat. If here ain’t another letter for Annie 
Devers, from her beau. He’s that feller what 
stopped at their place last winter wher her paw 

15 


The Garden oe Faith. 


had the rumatiz. Now jist see what he has writ. 
‘Roses be red, violets be blue, sugar be sweet, and 
so be you.’ La me, what made him write that 
fur ? Bill use to write that me twenty years ago.” 

“Annie’s a nice gal.” said a bystander. 

“La yes, she’s nice enough, aint nobody said 
she aint, is they?” replied the worthy, with 
pepper in her tone. “But jist listen to this,” 
here the voice lost its peppery strength, “Mr. 
Keith Barrington, M. R. S. L.’ — now, did ye 
ever see the beat? What do ye reckon that 
means?” 

For a moment all in the store was quiet. In 
fact the stillness was so profound that the tick- 
ing of watches in several pockets could be plain- 
ly heard. Bud Shaver pushed his hat back and 
scratched his head. Dad Hazelton shut one eye 
and squirted a streak of tobacco juice toward 
the sawdust box. Big Bill Brody gave Bud a 
forcible poke in the ribs. “What do ye reckon 
it means. Bud?” 

“I reckon it means sumthin’ pretty big. Aint 
he that feller what was up here in the hills last 
summer with his woman?” 

“La me, yes he is,” said the postmistress, “and 
her so stuck up she wouldn’t look at a body.” 

“Ain’t he the chap what’s got the swelled 
fixed house over on the Ridge, below Deverses 


16 


At The: Point. 


mill?” asked Dad, chewing his tobacco with 
contented relish. 

‘T gaddy, matter o’course he’s the feller” 
said Uncle Johny. 

“La me, yes it’s him, and I reckon he’s a 
cornin’ back or this letter wouldn’t ha’ come 
here. I cal’late I’ll have to keep it fur fourteen 
days and find out,” said the lady of high esteem 
while the crowd exchanged glances of admira^ 
tion. 

“Wall, I reckon I won’t be worrying’ none 
about him,” said Bud. “What’s a worryin’ me 
is that thar ’hant over by the mill.” 

“I gaddy, they ain’t nobidy seed it lately, hev 
they?” asked Uncle Johny. 

“I reckon as how they hev. Uncle Johny” 
Bud answered, as he reached around and 
scratched his back between the shoulders. “I 
seed it myself jist last Tuesday evenin’.’" 

“La me. Bud, ye don’t mean sure ?” came from 
the “guv’ment” employee. 

“I cal’late I do Mrs. Brody, I seed it as sure 
as shootin’.” 

Big George Fee glanced at Little George 
Fee. The Fees lived over by the mill, on the 
Ridge. Bud lived on the Ridge too, and if Bud 
had seen the ‘hant’ as he said he had, why of 


17 


The Garden oe Faith. 


course they wouldn’t want to be traveling over 
the road by the mill after dark. 

“Don’t ye reckon we better be a startin’ 
home?” asked Big George of Little George. 

“I reckon, Pap.” 

“I cal’late I’d better go along with ye,” said 
Bud. 

“How’s Grandmother’s George a gittin’?” 
questioned one of the crowd of the Fee’s. 

“Wall, I can’t jist say,” Big George replied, 
“Some o’ the time he seems pert enough, and 
then again he ain’t so lively. Reckon he won’t 
never be no better, seein’ as how he’s never bin 
jist right in his head, ye know.” 

“I gaddy, fur his Grandmother’s sake it would 
be a God’s blessin’ if he could be took. But 
matter o’ course he won’t go till his time comes,” 
Uncle Johny said. 

“’Taint likely he’ll be took very soon sein’ as 
how it’s mostly in his head that he’s sick, “re- 
plied Big George as he gathered up his bundles 
preparatory to making a start. 

The next afternoon, up on the Ridge, a youth 
might have been seen wending his way along a 
lonely, wooded path. He was a lightly built 
lad of sixteen years. His face was strongly 
moulded, and set with big gray eyes, fringed 
with long lashes. Those gray eyes told a sad 


18 


At Th^ Point. 


tale. At times they looked almost normal, then 
again they told of the lad’s suffering from a 
severe state of mental aberration. 

Behind the lad, at a short distance, an old 
lady followed. Her tall form was bent with the 
storms and trials of many years. As she 
walked she leaned totteringly upon a cane. 

The old lady called softly, “Come George, 
don’t ye think ye better come with Grannie?” 

The boy turned. One glance into his face 
told his present mental condition. Every now 
and then he gave a low cry. 

“Grannie’s goin’ to make a corn pone fur 
supper,” said the old lady, as she took him by 
the hand. 

“Grannie,” the lad said in dreary tones,” 
they’s so many kinds o’ colors.” 

“Yes, darlin’. Grannie knows,” and the old 
lady gently guided the faltering feet toward a 
log house standing on the hill. 

“Grannie,” the lad repeated in a tone of wist- 
fullness, “they’s so many kinds o’ colors that I 
don’t know who I be. Sometimes I’m pink, 
and sometimes I’m blue, and sometimes I’m a 
snake what crawls and bites.” The lad rubbed 
his hand across his brow. Then giving a shrill 
cry he threw himself upon the ground and 
glided along on his belly. He wriggled along 


19 


The Garden oe Faith. 


in the grass until they came to the clearing 
around the old house and then, Big George 
Fee came and carried him into the dwelling. 
Up into the loft he carried him, there to leave 
him until his ’bad spell had passed. 


20 


CHAPTER III. 


IN THE HEART OiF THE HILLS. 

Standing upon the hill facing the valley be- 
low, the little log bungalow stood empty and 
alone. Behind it lay the garden surrounded by 
a hedge. Big rose bushes within the garden 
looked desolate, since the last year’s weeds had 
not been uprooted, but stood among them all 
dead and dry. For five summers the roses had 
bloomed and died without a hand to touch a 
bud. For five autumns the moon had looked 
down upon a mass of tangled thistles and milk- 
weed. 

At the end of a thistled path, in one corner of 
the garden, a majestic bush cast portentious 
shadows over smaller bushes, even in the moon- 
light. Every summer this one bush, with its 
broken top, put to shame its companions by 
shooting forth one perfect, large, red rose. 

One giant oak tree grew near the front ver- 
anda, and from the lower step a board was 
missing. The moon shone capriciously among 
the barren branches of the tree and cast un- 
steady shadows over the broken stoop. The 
March wind, as it came whistling around the 
corner of the house made the night seem lonely 


21 


The Garden oe Faith. 


and dreary. The stars shone clearly through 
the floating clouds above, and in the clearing 
about the house the starlight, shadow things 
darted back and forth as though playing at 
some elf-like game. 

By the light of the moon a solitary man, 
followed by a dog, ascended the wooded path 
which led to the gate. Up the path the man 
came with drooping shoulders and bowed head. 

As the man walked up the path and neared 
the door he took from his pocket a bunch of 
keys. Reaching the door he sat his grip upon 
the porch floor and fitted a key to the lock. 
Turning the knob the door swung backward 
upon its hinges and the man passed inside. 

Feeling in his pocket he produced a match and 
struck it. Shading it with his cupped hand he 
made his way to the table and lighted a lamp. 
The flame flickered and sputtered until the 
chimney had been replaced, and then it shone 
forth, clearly revealing the objects of the room. 

It was a long room lighted by big French 
windows. On one side of the room was a 
fireplace. At either side of the fireplace were 
shelves lined with books — good books — in fact 
the best books ever written by man for his 
fellow man. Upon the floor lay a costly rug. 
Upon the walls hung many paintings — Raphaels 


22 


In The; Heart of the Hills. 


and Rembrandts. Soft, rich draperies and 
delicate hangings tended to soften the atmos- 
phere, while in the corner stood a grand piano, 
upon which music was scattered in a careless 
manner. 

Across the open front of the fireplace hung 
a drapery of cobwebs. A thick drapery it was, 
as though summer after summer a new web had 
been woven in front of the old. At present no 
weaver was in sight, and the dirt and dust from 
the room had lodged in the delicate meshes. 

A garment of feminine apparel lay upon a 
chair close by a table, and upon the table lay a 
yard or so of tatting with the shuttle fully 
wound. A pipe half filled with tobacco lay 
upon the mantle, and on the floor in front of the 
fireplace were a pair of house slippers. 

The man approached the mantel and lifted 
the pipe. A smile, grim and cold, moved the 
corners of his mouth. He tossed the pipe into 
the ashes, making a ragged hole in the finely 
woven web. 

The wind blew against the windows, creating 
a dismal sound. The man glanced toward them 
for a brief moment, and then disappeared into 
a rear room to return a minute later with mat- 
erial with which to build a fire; for the outer 


23 


The Garden oe Faith. 


man must needs be warmed even though the 
inner man is dead and cold. 

After the fire had been kindled, and when it 
sprang forth into a goodly blaze, the man seated 
himself in a big chair, where, with elbows 
resting on knees, and chin in plams, he watched 
the sparks fly upward. One or two flew out 
into the room, but the man did not see them. 

Thus, with bowed head and frozen heart, the 
man sat looking into the blaze until the fire died 
down and the room grew cold. Then he rose, 
and walking slowly to the window he stood for 
some time looking upon the moon-lighted 
garden. 

Suddenly he started. Was it fancy, or did he 
see a woman with a ghostlike veil trailing be- 
hind her? 

Quickly he moved across the room to the 
door, and out into the night. With hair blow- 
ing and body shivering he hurried up and down 
among the rose bushes, but naught could he 
find of a phantom-like form. 

Keith Barrington stopped and rubbed his 
eyes. Surely he had not dreamed about the 
woman? No, for here he was up in the hills, in 
Faith’s garden, back of the little bungalow. 

‘‘Tomorrow,” he said, forgetting the phantom 


24 


In The: He:art of the: Hills. 


at the thought of Faith, “tomorrow I’ll begin 
clearing this garden.’" 

All about the little clearing the scene was wild 
and rough. Only the twisted, crooked path 
told where feet were wont to trod in days gone 
by. 

It was here, to this spot, that Keith had 
brought Faith to spend their honeymoon. Here 
he had built the little garden for her, filling 
it with only the choicest of roses and poppies. 
Roses — rich, and big and dark, and red. Pop- 
pies — big and yellow. 

Tonight, in this moonlighted, dream-haunted 
garden of Faith’s Keith lived again the scenes of 
the past. Here, to this spot, he had brought 
Faith because he had loved the place. Here, 
to this spot in the heart of the wildwood, he 
had brought Faith because he felt that she 
would love the place as he had loved it, but 
Faith had not loved it — she was not of the kind 
who easily understand. Associating with this 
beautiful scenery of God’s make had not been 
such as would influence her mind to the things 
high and noble. 

Faith never saw the moonlight things, and the 
starlight things dancing here among the roses. 
She never heard the forest things singing to- 
gether making tones and music of perfect harm- 


25 


The Garden oe Faith. 


ony. She never heard the lilly bells ringing 
with chimes all sweet and low. And because 
she could not see the moonlight things of the 
garden, nor hear the soft-toned musical sounds 
of the forest, she had begged Keith to take her 
back to the city home. Gladly Keith had left 
his paradise to comply with her request. To 
grant her every wish was the full desire of his 
heart. 

Now, Keith turned to look at the big bush in 
the corner. That big bush with the broken top 
marked the exact spot where they had stood 
when last they visited the garden, and he 
plucked the red rose for her hair. He recalled 
how he had bent to kiss those locks, and had 
met a look from her lovely brown eyes — a look 
so filled with love and devotion. 

The man shivered with cold, or perhaps it was 
with memory, and looked about. “Fll wait 
right here for her just as the first man waited 
for the first woman so many, many year ago,” 
he said as he started for the house. 

The dog met him at the gate in the hedge. 
He came up and licked his hand. He wagged 
his tail and jumped up to receive his usual pat 
of aflfection. Keith stooped, and taking the 
dog’s head between his hands he looked long 
and earnestly into the knowing face. 


26 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE WOMAN BEGINS BEARING HER 
BURDEN. 

It is April. A little over a year has passed since 
the day upon which Keith Barrington begun bear- 
ing his burden. 

Out upon the ocean a vessel has been tossed 
about for days in the stormy weather, and upon 
an unknown sea. The mariner has just again 
got his bearings, and all is once more peaceful 
and serene. 

The vessel rides evenly upon the waters of 
the deep, the stars shine thick in the sky above, 
and a young, beautiful, dark-eyed woman sits 
upon the deck, wrapped in a rich steamer rug. 
Her eyes are following the every movement of 
the nurse-maid, who paces the deck, carrying 
in her arms a bundle of infantile humanity. 

'Ts he sleeping, Faustina?” questioned a 
voice of musical tone. 

“No, madam, he isn’t,” replied the maid. 

“Then mightn’t I hold him awhile?” 

“Indeed you may, madam.” 

“Vous etes fort, Faustina,” spoke the sweet- 
toned voice. 


27 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Faustina smiled. “Vous etes triste, madam,” 
she said, as she placed the little one in his 
mother’s! arms. “L’enfant est hon et joli,” 
she added. 

“Et fort,” said the mother. 

“Ah, he is, madam. You would so think 
were you to give him his bath. When I in the 
little tub put him, he kicks and splashes until 
I sometimes can no more bathe him.” 

The mother smiled with pleasure. “He is 
mama’s little man,” she said, as she fondled him 
tenderly. Then she added, “I don’t feel sad, 
Faustina, when I hold him in my arms.” 

Faustina had no chance to reply, but she 
glanced up at a tall, manly figure coming toward 
them. 

“God, Faith but you do make a picture with 
that flimsy looking thing over your head and 
around your shoulders,” said John LaVelle, as 
he took a seat in the vacant chair beside her. 
“And how’s the kid?” he added a^^ he glanced 
at the bundle in her arms. 

LaVelle was a handsome man, of about forty 
years, marvelously built, and of very pleasing 
manners. But there was a something lurking 
in his deep>set black eyes that caused one to 
hesitate before putting full trust in him. 

“Faith, that kid’s too heavy for you to hold,” 


28 


The^ Woman Be:gins Bearing He^r Burde:n. 


he now said in sharp tones, ‘‘besides, he looks 
too much like his damned daddy to suit me/’ 
Turning to Faustina, he commanded, “Here, 
you come get this kid and put him to bed.” 

The maid took the little one from his mother’s 
arms. She did not look, but she knew there 
were tears in the eyes of her mistress as she 
loosed her arms from about her precious burden. 
A tear glistened in her own eye as she dis- 
appeared from view, murmuring to herself, 
“Elies ont ete folles.” 

Faith sat looking out over the cool, quiet 
waters. Her heart was filled with sadness and 
remorse. “Why, oh why did I not know — why 
did I do that foolish thing?” she asked herself. 

“God, Faith but you’re a stunner,” said 
LaVelle. 

The woman shuddered as with a chill, though 
the night was warm. She turned her head and 
looked at the man; again she turned it and 
looked out over fhe peaceful, tranquility of the 
sea. 

“See here. Faith,” Lavelle continued, “there 
isn’t any use of your actin’ that way. There’s 
no use of your getting peeved just because I 
sent that youngster to bed. I aint going to 
have it.” 

“No, I don’t think you will,” Faith answered. 


29 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“Now, what might you be meaning by that?’* 

The woman looked at her companion as she 
arose. She did not honor him with a reply, but 
passed from the deck in silence. LaVelle look- 
ed after her while a smile played about the 
corners of his handsome mouth. “God, but 
she’s a stunner,” he said as he lighted a cigar, 
and stretched himself, handsome beast that he 
was, upon the steamer chair. 

In her room the woman threw herself upon 
her knees. She hid her face in her hands and 
wept bitters tears — tears of longing mixed with 
regret. She had been so foolish, she could see 
that now. She had not relized what a dear, 
good fellow Keith really was. She could not 
recall one single time when he had been cross 
with her. Of course there had been times when 
he had been nervous and easily irritated, caused 
by overwork, loss of sleep, and the forgetting to 
come to meals, but to be really cross with her 
— he never had. 

Now she knew how good and kind he had 
been. Now she saw the difference between his 
life and the life of him who was to have given 
her all things, and bring her happiness. 

Only one short year since she had left him, 
but it was a year by the means of which she 
had been made fully cognizant of the reality, 


30 


The Woman Begins Bearing Her Burden. 


and the truth, that, had she known of the little 
boy — of Keith’s little son — she never would have 
taken the contemptible step. 

In her heart she was glad for the boy — the 
little creature that bound her life so closely to 
the life of him whom she had so wronged and 
deserted. 

She thought of how proud Keith would have 
been of the boy. Her imagination pictured him 
looking at her, as she held his child in her arms. 
She could see the look of rapture and almost 
reverence upon his face as he gazed upon them. 
She knew so well the very look that would shine 
within his eye. The thought brought a pang to 
her heart. She wondered if he had forgotten her. 
She wondered if he had learned to hate her with 
a hatred as deep as his love had been. Reaching 
out her arms to the bare, empty void of the room, 
she sobbed in heart-breaking tones, ‘'Keith, Keith 
— forgive me. Come, come take me back into 
your heart and life — come, come take me and 
your little boy — our little son.” The words ended 
in a mournful, sorrowful sound. 

Thus did the woman with whom my story has 
to deal begin bearing her burden, and in the bear- 
ing of the burden the woman was drawn nearer 
to her God. 


31 


CHAPTER V. 


CONSCIENCE AWAKENS. 

To Faith conscience awakened slowly but 
surely. She was not awakened as was Judas, who 
went out and hanged himself. Her awakening; 
was more like that of David, who lay prone upon 
the earth all night. 

Conscience spoke to Faith several times. It 
spoke to her that night in her room upon the 
steamer. Two weeks later, an incident occurred 
which separated her from LaVelle forever. 

Faustina had wheeled Robert to a place down 
by a shaded stream. A luncheon had been pre- 
pared, and she and her mistress were to have 
eaten it here together. She had left Faith here 
with Robert, and had returned to the house for 
cushions and other indispensable articles. 

Left alone with the boy. Faith stood at the 
head of the deep green valley, carved from out 
the mountains in a perfect oval, with a fence of 
sheer rock standing around it, twenty feet or more 
high, from whose brink black wooded hills swept 
up to the sky line. 

All unmindful of the child, she stood watching 
the rippling water at her feet. Her eyes fol- 
lowed its course until it passed from view around 


32 


Conscie:nce Awakens. 


the ragged edge of the cliff. As the water flowed 
beneath her feet, carrying upon its bosom many 
pieces of drift-wood, likewise was her memory 
flowing backward, carrying upon its seat of affec- 
tion the thoughts and the acts of her life. 

Standing there beneath the wide-spreading 
trees, beside the rippling stream which sparkled 
in the sunshine and turned to inky blackness 
in the shadows, this girl-woman looked a 
fairy queen, reigning in fairy-land. Mother- 
hood — grand, glorious, noble motherhood — had 
opened the eyes of Faith, that she might see and 
understand the magnanimity of God’s greatness 
and the wonders of His love. Looking up at the 
waving trees above her she extended her arms. 
“Keith,*’ she said, “Keith, I understand.” 

Here LaVelle found her, interrupting the 
supremely felicitous fancies of meditation. “That 
kid grows like a weed, don’t he?” he said as he 
came near. 

“I presume he grows as is the custom for all 
children to grow,” Faith replied. 

“You ought to have a cyanotype taken of him, 
and send it to his little daddy. It might help to 
add a little more color to the little man’s blues.” 

Faith bit her lip to keep back the angry retort 
that came to her mind. 


33 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“Say, girlie, it is a mighty good thing I came 
along and picked you up, isn’t it?” 

“I think not.” 

“What’s that? You’ve forgotten how glad you 
were to come with me haven’t you? We’d get 
along all right too, if it wasn’t for that kid. We 
loved each other sure enough, now didn’t we?” 

“But such love couldn’t last,” Faith answered. 
“It wasn’t right and you knew it. You have told 
me so a hundred times since. John, why did you 
do such a thing? Why did you bring me here? 
You knew you were taking advantage of my 
loneliness. You knew it was wrong. It always 
makes me think of a soap bubble — ^the way you 
pictured things to me — it was filled to the utmost 
with many beautifully tinted hues, and like a 
soap bubble, it bursted. I would give anything 
if I hadn’t helped to blow the bubble.” 

See here. Faith, you don’t mean to tell me that 
you no longer love me, do you ?” 

“Love,” she answered, “love is like two kinds 
of light, one rises with the dawning of the new 
day, lingers with a beautiful clearness all day 
long, and goes down at night. The other — the 
other is like a streak of lightning coming from a 
black, angry cloud — it strikes — ^it leaves one 
blackened and burned — and— and in time it kills 
one. The love that comes with the new day is the 


34 


Conscience: Awakens. 


kind of love that lasts — it’s the kind that’s right. 
It stays with one all the whole, long day of life.” 

“Pooh, you’re getting sentimental — you’rs get- 
ting just a little bit like that shrimp of a Barring- 
ton, and I’ll be damned if I don’t shake the stuffin’ 
out of that shrimp of a kid of his.” LaVelle 
started for the cab, wherein little Robert lay, 
pulling at the toe of his tiny blue shoe, and crow- 
ing lustily. 

Faith stood before her child like a young tigress 
guarding its offspring. She was ready to shed 
her heart’s last drop of blood to protect her young. 

The attitude she assumed tended to arouse 
LaVelle’s anger the more. His eyes turned to a 
sickening green, his teeth came together with a 
snap, and the blood rushed to his face and bull- 
like neck. He clenched his fists and stared at 
Faith; she threw back her head with a look of 
defiance, and her young, supple form became in- 
flexible. 

“Get out of my way this minute,” LaVelle com- 
manded, in a hoarse tone. 

Faith did not move. Behind her the boy, ignor- 
ant of the meaning of the scene, ignorant of the 
actions of the dramtis personae, cooed and 
gurgled in childish delight. 

“Will you move?” asked LaVelle. 

“No,” said Faith. 


35 


The Garden oe Faith. 


‘'Then take that, and be damned,’^ and LaVelle 
grabbed her by the wrist and gave it a twist which 
threw her to the ground. Faith, almost fainting 
from the pain, lay helpless at his feet, her eyes 
wide with fright. 

LaVelle gave a fiendish laugh, and reached for 
the boy, but his intent to do harm was nipped in 
the bud, for just at this minute a piping, boyish 
voice called out, “Here, Mister, I guess you’d 
better cut it.” 

Turning, LaVelle looked into the barrel of an 
old, rusty rifle held by a hunchbacked boy. An 
expression of amazement and wonder crept into 
his face. Who was this boy? Where did he get 
those big, black eyes ? Where that profile ? 

The boy’s legs looked as though they could 
scarcely support his little body. His face was 
pale, having that ghastly look which is ever the 
mien of the cripple. The finger resting upon the 
trigger looked like the talon of some huge bird. 

“Better take a slide and skate away. Mister. 
I ain’t got no idee the ledy keers to hav youse 
around. Here I been all forenoon a tryin’ to find 
a jack rabbit, and I’ve found a bigger kind o’ a 
jack.” 

“See here, boy,” said LaVelle, “here’s a nice, 
clean, crisp five-dollar bill. You’re a smart little 


36 


Conscience Awakens. 


chap, all right, and you just take it and run 
along.’’ 

“I see you’re slick. Mister, and that’s why I’m 
askin’ you to take a slide. If you ain’t slid by the 
time I count ten. I’m goin’ to throw a bean at 
youse. Better kind o’ back away, easy like. Any 
funny stunts on your part and you’re a stiff.” 

Looking into those big black eyes, LaVelle 
could no longer refuse to leave the scene. In 
fact, he wanted to get away. Those eyes brought 
back memories of other days. Memories of 
twenty years ago. Memories that LaVelle longed 
to forget. Memories of a girl who loved and 
trusted — not wisely, but too well. 

After LaVelle had disappeared the cripple 
turned to Faith, and removing his battered hat he 
assisted her to her feet. 

“Oh, how can I ever thank you for saving 
baby?” Faith cried, as she clasped Robert to her 
breast and nearly smothered him with kisses. 

“You ain’t got nothin’ to thank me fur, lady. 
I wouldn’t ha’ let him hurt that baby if they want 
nobody around but just him.” 

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t. You are a brave, 
good boy. But, oh, I just don’t know what to 
do. Faustina doesn’t come to help with baby, and 
my arm hurts so.” 

“If you mean you want somebody to get the 


37 


The: Garden or Faith. 


baby home for you, I’ll get him there for you. 
Here, you just carry this gun with your hand 
what ain’t hurt.” 

Consequently, the deformed boy pushed the 
cab, and his heart was filled with a joy it had 
never before known. He felt like a king parad- 
ing before his subjects. His slim chest expanded 
visibly. His eyes sparkled beneath the broken 
brim of his straw hat. His tattered garments 
were indeed a great contrast to the rich attire of 
the little inhabitant of the carriage. 

Arriving at the house Faith found that LaVelle 
had not yet returned. She surmised, and cor- 
rectly, that he had gone to his club. She told 
Faustina of all that had happened in the woods, 
and after they had cared for the lame wrist they 
began packing, preparatory to departing at the 
earliest possible moment. Faith felt she could no 
longer remain with LaVelle. She had known for 
some time that the flame of love had been extin- 
guished, but now every spark of respect that she 
had had for him had died down. 

She had some little money of her own; this, 
with her jewels, she felt would keep herself and 
Robert from want for some time. She deemed 
it essential to dispense with Faustina’s services. 
Therefore, after the packing had been done, good- 
byes were said, and Faustina left with tears in 


38 


Conscience Awakens. 


her heart and eyes, for she had grown to love her 
Mistress and the bright-eyed Robert very dearly. 

Several hours riding on a fast train brought 
Faith to her journey’s end. She felt entirely 
helpless without Faustina. It was the first time in 
all her life that she had found it necessary to de- 
pend upon herself for everything. 

When she alighted at the depot she entered a 
cab, and was driven directly to a hotel. What 
was her surprise to find, upon descending from 
the carriage, the deformed lad standing by the 
curbing waiting and ready to take Robert. He 
carried the child into the hotel and held him ten- 
derly while Faith registered for a room. When 
she came to relieve him she questioned him. 
‘‘How in the world did you get here — er — I don’t 
believe you — told me your name, my boy?” 

“It’s Jim, my lady, and I came by way o’ the 
blind baggage, and the back o’ your cab.” 

“And why did you do that Jim? Aren’t you 
afraid your mother will feel worried about you ?” 

“Don’t reckon as she will, lady; leastwise it 
won’t be grievin’ her none.” 

“But I’m sure it will, my boy. She will feel 
dreadfully worried about you. Don’t you think 
you had better let me send you right back ?” 

“What fur?” 


39 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“Why, so your poor mother will not feel wor- 
ried about you.” 

“Oh, if that’s it, I reckon I’ll be after stayin’ 
right here. I ain’t got no maw, lady.” 

“Haven’t you really, Jim? Haven’t you any 
one to care for you ? Why, where did you live ?” 

“I ain’t got no one what keers, lady, and I lived 
with ‘Skinny’ in a couple o’ boxes, what we made 
a house out of. It was sure a right smart house. 
They was sure some class to it. We was a livin’ 
mighty high. Et our dinners a la mode,” here a 
broad smile overspread the pale face, “leastwise, 
that’s what ‘Skinny’ said, and he ort to know 
’cause he’s flunky at one o’ ’em big hotels.” 

“Jim, did you follow me here because you 
wished to be near Robert? If you did, you shall 
be. Here, just hold baby a minute while I speak 
for a room for you.” 

“Oh, no lady, don’t do that. You jist take the 
boy and go ’long to bed. I’ll be all right. I ain’t 
use to beds nohow.” 

“But Jim I cannot leave you here.” 

“Oh, yes you kin lady, and ye don’t need to 
feel worried about me stayin’ around here long — 
’cause ye won’t no more’n git out ’till I’ll be 
kicked out.” 

Faith insisted upon the lad’s holding Robert 
while she spoke for a room for him. The result 


40 


Conscience Awakens. 


was that for the first time since Jim could re- 
member he spent the night between sheets. 

In this wise it happened that the boy with the 
unshapely, disfigured body came into the life of 
Faith, and in the coming, brought unto her the 
knowledge, that the most beautiful things of life 
are not always visible to the naked eye. The most 
precious stones are not known to be of great 
beauty until they have undergone the process of 
polishing. The things, the qualities which charm 
and delight the best part of man — the part that 
loves, and thinks, and feels — are not the things 
which lie without, but rather the things that rest 
within. 


41 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE STRANGE MUSICIAN. 

The four years following Faith’s return to her 
home town were filled with hours spent in deep 
regret. She had leased a place in the outskirts of 
the city, and the lawn and grounds had been put 
in order, while the interior of the little cottage had 
been renovated, papered and painted. 

Faith, with Robert and the deformed lad, Jim, 
lived a quiet life. Jim had been sent to school, and 
had spent the nights and mornings in caring for 
the garden and in helping Faith about the house. 
Many times during these long years did Faith 
long to go to Keith and ask his forgiveness, but 
always in her heart there was the fear that he had 
grown to hate her as much as he had once loved 
her. 

For three years all had gone well at the little 
home, but at the beginning of the fourth year the 
money was discovered to be running very low, by 
reason of which Faith began practicing economy. 
She planned each meal at the least possible cost, 
and Jim, who was ever her silent worshipper, 
helped in the planning and the saving. 

Under these conditions Faith was taken very 
sick, and when a nurse came to care for her it 


42 


The Strange Musician. 


was Jim who peddled vegetables from the little 
garden, sold papers upon the street, and did all 
sorts of odd jobs with which to earn the money to 
pay all the extra expenses. 

And through all the skimping and the planning 
little Robert lived as would the son of a king. 
He was clothed in the finest garments, and taught 
by the best tutors. Faith would not have it other- 
wise, for to her he was Keith’s little boy — Keith’s 
little son, and knowing how well Keith would have 
loved the lad, and how tenderly he would have 
cared for him, she felt she could not deny the 
child his rightful inheritance. Never once did she 
think that Keith would have cared for her in like 
manner as he would have cared for the boy. 
Never once did she consider herself, but always 
were her thoughts of the boy — Keith’s son. 

One night when Faith was recovering from her 
illness, but was yet unable to perform any one of 
the many tasks about the house, it so happened 
that Jim discovered the larder empty and the 
money spent. He also learned that Faith had 
been denying herself the wines and the broths 
which had been ordered by the good old doctor. 

My story does not deal with the manner in 
which Jim learned all this, but it does deal with 
the fact that he, when he knew, took his battered 
violin from its place against the wall, and going 


43 


The Garden oe Faith. 


out into the garden he stood where the purple 
shadows fell, and watched the last faint streak of 
day go from the sky behind the little clump of 
willows. Then he threw himself upon the ground, 
and moaned and wept because the good God had 
made him as he was, a misshaped, deformed being 
who was unable to cope with humanity, and bring 
to those, who were to him the best loved of all 
the world, the very necessaries of life. 

Here he lay and wept until the stars came out, 
and the forms of the nearby trees were lost in the 
grayness of the night. Then he remembered his 
violin, and sought comfort in drawing his bow 
across the strings. 

Just beyond the clump of willows an old man, 
bent with many years of toil and sorrows, lifted 
his head to listen. His sad face was framed in a 
mass of thick gray hair. Unconsciously his hand 
reached out and patted a battered case. 

From out the darkness the strains of music 
came. Softly they came with a clearness speak- 
ing of sadness. Low at first, then stronger and 
stronger, with the deepest of feeling, until the 
man who listened could read the sobbing, the 
wailing, the moaning and the anguish in the very 
heart of the player. 

The man who listened knew that the soul of a 
true musician was seeking expression in the tones 


44 


The Strange Musician. 


of that violin. To this man, who was so made by 
God to receive and understand the message of 
the music, there came a cry from one in distress. 

Slowly he made his way toward the one who 
so reverently cried unto him. He stood behind 
the cripple lad, so closely that had he put out his 
hand he would have touched the deformed back. 

Presently the music ceased, and the player 
heaved a deep sigh of sadness. Then it was that 
the old man spoke : “I have been listening to your 
music, my friend, and I want to ask you to come 
with me.'’ 

Surprised, and without a word, the cripple fol- 
lowed the old man. Through a break in the wil- 
lows they passed, and stopped in a place where 
the moonlight fell. The old man did not look at 
his companion, nor did he speak, but he reached 
for the well-worn case, and removed from the 
covering a long-used violin. All the while he 
murmered to himself words of a language that 
the boy could not understand. Neither did the 
boy know that the violin, upon which the master 
played, came from the master’s home town in 
northern Italy. The boy only knew that the mas- 
ter played. 

At first the tones were scarcely more than a 
whisper. Then by degrees they grew in volume 
until the cripple lad could read in the cords all of 


45 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


the pains, all of the sufferings of the whole wide 
world. He was moved as he had been moved 
many times when the flowers, the trees, the winds 
and the waters called. Nearer, still nearer, he 
drew to the unconscious player, his face growing 
pale and his hands trembling. “Don’t,’' he whis- 
pered in a trembling voice, “don’t play any more ; 
I’m so full it hurts.” 

The master lowered his instrument and looking 
into the pale face as the moonbeams fell full upon 
it, he understood. He pushed the violin toward 
the boy, “Play,” he said, “Play like hell.” 

Dropping his own instrument the boy grasped 
the master’s violin firmly in his hand. He lifted it 
— and then it was that the genius in him awoke. 
In the flood of feeling which came over him his 
spirit spoke in the violin. He forgot his troubles, 
he forgot his loved ones, he played until the mas- 
ter called, “Don’t lad, don’t play any more — it is 
as you say — it hurts.” 

The boy laid the instrument in its place in the 
old case, then with lowered eyes he reached out 
both hands, palms down. The old man’s wrinkled, 
trembling ones met them with a gripping clasp. 

It was past midnight when Jim said good-night 
to his new-found friend, and passed through the 
opening in the willows to the little cottage. In 


46 


The Strange Musician. 


his pocket were several gold coins, which the 
master assured him he had earned with his music ; 
in his heart there was peace and joy. 


47 


CHAPTER VIL 


WHY DON’T I HAVE A PAPA? 

The result of Jim’s meeting with the strange 
musician was one of great importance at the little 
cottage. The gold pieces carried the family along 
until they were once more able to battle for them- 
selves. 

By this time little Robert had begun to grow 
very troublesome with his many questions. He 
wondered about many things. He wondered 
about so many things that Faith began to be fear- 
ful lest she should not be able to rear the child 
as she ought. 

“Mamma,” said he, one Sunday morning while 
Faith was dressing him for Sunday school, “when- 
ever we used to go down town we rode in a car- 
riage; why didn’t we ride in a carriage yester- 
day?” 

“Because, dear, we needed — because we — be- 
cause we like to ride on the street car once in a 
while, don’t we?” 

“No, we don’t, I never liked to ride in a street 
car in all my life long days.” Robert shut his lips 
tightly together and looked into his mother’s face, 
as though he would learn what she thought of such 
a horrible thing as this “I had to sit right 


48 


Why Don't I Havi: a Papa. 


square by a nigger kid yesterday, and he 
touched me too.” 

Faith knew the child expected and wanted a 
reply, but not knowing just what was in his little 
heart, she refrained from answering his hidden 
question. 

Shortly Robert resumed, “Mamma,” I want to 
ride down town in a carriage with black horses 
hitched to it, and I want James who lives in the 
big house behind the park, I want him to be 
drivin’ for me. I want him to wear his high 
silk hat. I want him to wear a shinier hat 
than Philip, who drives for Floyd Dunbar, 
does. Mamma, I want to wear these red velvet 
knickers of mine every day, and I want the 
horses right away. Why can’t I have ’em 
right away?” 

“Because, darling, we don’t need any horses.” 

“Well, what makes Floyd Dunbar have 
horses ?” 

“Why, dearie, Floyd’s papa keeps them to 
drive,” 

“Well, does ’ist papa’s have horses?” 

“Yes dear.” 

“Well, why don’t I have a papa?” 

The suddenness of the question so startled 
Faith that she sank to the floor in a helpless 
fashion. It seemed her trembling limbs could 


49 


The Garden oe Faith. 


no longer support her frail body. In a faint 
voice she said ‘Tt is time you were starting to 
Sunday school, dear. You mustn’t be late.” 

Robert heaved a sigh. There was no need 
for little boys to try to learn things. People 
always thought they didn’t need to know. 

Robert was truly a pecular child. Sometimes 
he was filled with active tricks. At others he 
was quiet and thoughtful. His features chang- 
ed with his moods. When he played little mis- 
chievous tricks, and was caught at them, his 
pointed chin would lift in stubbornness. 
When he was alone in the great park behind the 
house, that same little chin would set in a way 
that told of concentration of mind. His little 
mouth always told his mother of the workings 
of the inner child. Being a little mouth that 
drooped at the corners. Faith learned, when 
it drooped the most, the child was in deep 
study. 

“Of what is my little man thinking?” she 
asked one evening when she found him sitting 
thus. 

“Mamma am I a brother to Jesus?” 

Faith’s back was turned. She was reaching 
in the closet for his little night-shirt. She 
thought a moment, wondering how to answer 
him. She could not get the drift of his 


50 


Why Don't I Have a Papa. 


thoughts. Oh, how much she needed Keith. 
She felt sure he would understand the boy. 
This was a portion of the price she must pay 
for her wrong. ‘T don’t know just what you 
mean, dear,” she said. 

“Why, I mean wasn’t Jesus horned without 
no papa ?” 

“God was his Father, dear.” 

“Yes, and ain’t God my Father?” 

“Of course, darling,” Faith said, as she but- 
toned the last button on his night-shirt. 

Robert made a dive for the middle of the bed, 
and a pair of heels flew into the air. Standing 
on his little curly head, he asked with a very 
red face, “Two little boy’s what’s got the same 
papa is brothers, aint they Mamma?” 

“Yes.” 

A quick turn, and Robert came right side up, 
“That’s what I thinked.” he said. 

The next afternoon, while Robert was play- 
ing with Floyd Dunbar, in the latter’s nursery, 
Floyd became angry because of a trick Robert 
played. Insultingly, he remarked, “You’re so 
poor you ain’t got no nursery to play in.” 

“I aint poor, and ’sides I don’t want no 
nursery.” 

“You are poor. My mamma said you are poorer 
than Job’s turkey.” 


51 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Little Robert's big brown eyes turned black 
with anger. He doubled up his little fists. 
''Well, you are so poor you can't have no 
brother," he said. 

"I don't want no crooked-backed brother." 

"Well, I don't want no nursery. They're just 
for babies. I never wanted a nursery in all 
my life long days." 

"I don't want no crooked-backed brother, 
either." 

"My biggest brother ain't got no crooked 
back." 

"You ain't got no brother but crooked-backed 
Jim." 

"I have, too, and he's got a straighter back 
than you. And you got to say that Jim ain't 
got no crooked back or I’ll give you a worse 
lickin' than you ever had." Robert came up to 
Floyd shaking his fist beneath his nose. 

"You touch me and and I’ll pound the day- 
lights out out of you.” Floyd answered. 

Soon two little boys rolled over and over on 
the floor. Two little faces got very red. Two 
little heads were pulled. Four little legs kicked 
frantically. 

"Say I ain't got no crooked-backed brother,” 
commanded Robert. 

"I won't do it." said Floyd. 


52 


Why Don't I Have a Papa. 


The battle v^ould have been prolonged had 
not Floyd’s mother called. “You boys stop 
that fighting this minute, or Floyd will go to 
bed, and Robert can go home.” 

After some little time had passed, and the 
two little boys had removed a portion of the 
dirt and dust from their clothing, Floyd said, 
‘T don’t care, you ain’t got no brother but crooked 
Jim.” 

“I have, too. And he’s got a straighter back 
than you.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Hfs name’s Jesus Christ Barrington.” 

“Ho, Jesus is my brother too.” replied Floyd 
in glee. 

“He ain’t. Big fat David Dunbar is your 
papa. God is my father. God is the father of 
Jesus, too. Two little boys what’s got the 
same father is brother’s. My mamma said so.” 

Floyd Dunbar felt at a disadvantage. He 
felt uneasy. If what Robert said was true, of 
course Robert was above him. He felt very 
much as a little negro child might feel when he 
first comes to the knowledge that he has been 
born black, and the black won’t wash off. 

“Let’s play leap-frog,” he said, as he bent his 
little back for Robert to make the first leap. 

That night Robert knelt beside his bed to say 


53 


The Garden of Faith. 


his prayers. Faith knelt beside him clasping 
his little folded hands in her own, as was her 
custom. Robert’s little voice came in sing- 
song tones. 

“Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the 
Lord my soul to keep ; if I should die before I 
wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take; this I 
ask for Jesus sake — Amen — mamma how poor 
are we?” 

The suddenness of the question, came like a 
shock. “Why, not very poor, I guess. What 
makes you ask, dear?” 

“Oh, ’cause Floyd Dunbar he said we was 
poorer than Job’s turkey, but I asked Job 
Frank’s how poor was his turkey and he said 
he didn’t have no turkey. So you see, mamma, 
Fljoyd’s ’ist telled a — a — , you know what, 
mama.” 

Faith did not hear the last of the child’s 
reply. Her face was flushed at the insolence of 
the remark. How could any one insult her 
child by talking to him in that way? She knew 
very well that Floyd’s words were an echo. Oh, 
what a price she was paying for her wrong. 

The next day the minister called at the little 
cottage, and as Faith was not in, little Robert 
ushered him into the box-like parlor. Some 
few minutes later, as Faith drew near, she was 


54 


Why Don't I Have a Papa. 


startled at the statements made by her son. 

“Have you any brothers and sisters?" the 
good man was asking. 

“Yes, sir," came the reply that had so startled 
Faith. 

“And how many?" 

“Five sisters and two brothers," came Rob- 
ert’s voice, carrying in the very tone his feel- 
ings of defiance and determination. 

Faith entered the room and the conversation 
between Robert and the minister came to an 
end. 

After the minister had gone. Faith called 
Robert and took him to task for making such 
false statements. 

“Why did you tell such an untruth, dear?" 
she asked. 

The little chin came up, and the corners of 
the little mouth came down. The child did 
not answer. 

“Robert, why did you tell the minister that 
you had brothers and sisters ? It grieves mamma 
to have her little boy tell such untruths. 
Don’t you know it does, dear?" 

Robert ran his hands deep into his trousers 
pockets, “Well, mamma. I’m tired of it. Every- 
body thinks we are so poor. Floyd Dunbar 
says we’re poorer than Job’s turkey — when 


55 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Job ain’t got no turkey at all, — and then that old 
preacher man, he comes a tryin’ to find out 
’ist how poor we are. Did you think I was 
going to let him know that we are really too 
poor to have all the brothers and sisters we 
want? I ain’t never going to let any body 
know it, in all my life long days — so there.*’ 


56 


CHAPTER VIIL 


IN THE GARDEN OF FAITH 

During the five years spent among the hills, 
Keith made for himself a little kingdom in the 
hearts of all the hill people. Charity, kindness, 
meekness and brotherly love carried him into 
the affection of his little dominion. 

Whenever there was sickness, there one 
could find Keith. Whenever there was poverty 
or need, his purse string hung open. It was 
he who comforted the bereaved mother, guiding 
her feet along the path of solitude and lonliness. 
It was he who reproved the wayward boy with 
gentle words. H^e picked the drunken lad from 
out the ditch at the side of the road, and helped 
him back to decent living. 

And always for him, there was something 
that shone out brightly, something that shone 
out in the darkness of the days, making the 
days less dark and his burden less heavy. That 
something was Faith. “Faith,” the apostle Paul 
says, “will purify the heart.” With Keith, 
love for Faith was working wonders. 

Faith was the hope of his soul. Faith led 
him on and ever on, over rock-strewn paths, 
and rough steep ways — up — up far beyond the 


57 


The Garden oe Faith. 


common thoughts of man — up where all is good 
and right; up where the roses bloom in desert 
lands, and where the lamb and the lion lie down 
in peace together — there, where the Highway of 
Holiness leads to a life without end. 

Living as he did, alone in Faith’s garden with 
God and the roses, he became a dreamer who 
dreamed noble thoughts, which could not but 
infuse those with whom he came in contact 
with something of the beautiful. For this 
reason the hill people had learned to love him. 
For this reason the rude, rough hill people came 
to look to him for help and comfort in the hour 
of need. 

And it was because of these dreams that 
Faith, the little brown-eyed dream girl, became 
to him something more than a girl or woman. 

Keith’s spirit was a gentle one. He had 
given Faith all the love of a true, warm heart, 
and he was spending the years here in the hills 
waiting for her return. He never wakened in 
the morning without thinking, surely she will 
come today. 

In this manner the days went by, until now, 
in this fifth year of his watching and waiting, 
the looking for her became more of a habit 
than an expectation. 

Keith could not remember the time when he 
58 


In thk Garde:n of Faith. 


had not love^ Faith. She seemed to have al- 
ways been a part of his life. Now, when the 
roses of the season were breaking into full 
bloom, his heart called for her with all the 
strength of his pure, noble manhood. His heart 
called for her with all the passion of his being. 
It seemed to him that all the forest things were 
crying aloud for her. Yet, to an incidental 
observer looking at him, as he moved about 
among his roses, stooping here and there to 
pluck a dead leaf, there was nothing in his 
manner to tell of the ache within his heart. On 
the other hand he looked happy, and he whistled 
softly while he worked. 

High up above him a hawk circled round and 
lound. From the forest there came a whiff of 
air, bringing with it sweet odors of woodland 
flowers. The scent of the woodland flowers 
brought to him the sweet memory of another 
June morning, of a morning when Faith had 
stood beside him in her garden, with her brown 
head resting upon his shoulder, and her little 
hand in his. 

As though it were but yesterday, the delight 
of the moment came back back to him, and one 
by one, through the departed years, he sought 
out the links of happiness that bound him to 
that past. 


59 


The Garden oe Faith. 


The afternoon she came here with him the 
bride of a day. Over there by the hedge was 
the rose bush she had planted, patting the dirt 
about its roots with her little white hands. 
How she had disliked getting her hands dirty, 
and how he had laughed at her foolishness — 
yes, that is what he had called it. 

Over there by the biggest bush, the one with 
the broken top, was where they had stood to- 
gether the night before starting for the city. 
That was the last time Faith had visited her 
garden. He wondered if it would ever stand 
for the last time. 

Bosco came running up from a run after a 
rabbit, and lay down at his master’s feet, pant- 
ing and tired. 

“Tired, Bosco?” Keith asked. 

Suddenly the dog jumped up. The hair along 
his back stood straight. A man was coming up 
the path, riding a buck-skin mule. Keith 
walked to the gate in the hedge and waited. 

“Ain’t seed nothin’ of our ole gray mare and 
colt, have ye?” asked Bud Shaver, as he threw 
one leg over the mule’s back, and reached in 
his pocket for his plug. 

“Not a thing. Bud. Have you lost them?” 

“Wall, I don’t jist reckon ye would call ’em 
lost. Jist strayed away like, ye know.” 

60 


In the: Garden oe Faith. 


^‘Perhaps you will find them down by the old 
mill.’^ 

“Do ye reckon? Say, ye ain’t seed anything 
more o’ the hant have ye? 

“No, I haven’t seen that either,” said Keith 
laughing. 

“Wall, pap was sayin’ last night as how Dad 
Hiazelton tole him yisterday that Sam Brody 
seed it Tuesday evenin’. He ’llowed it was 
hagin’ around ole man Crosby’s cabin by the 
mill again.” 

“That so?” 

“Yep, and pap ’llowed ye ort to be told about 
it so ye could be kind o’ keerful when ye happen 
down that way.” 

“I’ll be down that way in the morning. Go- 
ing to take Grandmother’s George fishing on the 
creek, below the dam.” 

“Law, ye don’t say so. Better be keerful; 
he’s apt to get one o’ his fits. Say, ain’t ye a 
a little bit skeered at the hant and him to- 
gether?” 

“Why should I be scared ?” 

Bud shook his head, “Ain’t another man in 
the hills, what would da’st to do it. What time 
bes ye thinkin’ of startin’?” 

“Oh, along about three o’clock, I guess. We 


Cl 


The Garden oe Faith. 


want to get there early so as to rest in the shade 
during the warm part of the day.” 

“I don’t believe ye have heard about the hant 
or ye wouldn’t be runnin’ no sich risks.” 

“Well, I’ll admit I haven’t heard much about 
it.” 

“Wall, ye see it’s jist a matter o’ opinion about 
the story bein’ plum true, but ye know ole man 
Crosby come to this part o’ the country, nigh 
onto forty year ago. He bought up all the 
land around on the north side o’ the ole mill 
thar, and had a heap o’ money, so everbidy said. 
Law, but I’ll never forgit that day when he 
moved into the big house he built — the one what 
burned down right arter his darter run away 
and married that no-count, preacher feller, what 
corned a holdin’ meetin’s in the school house. 
Arter that, the old man moved into the little 
log hut, thar by the mill, and nobidy’s seed 
much o’ him sinct. Don’t nobidy da’st ask him 
no questions. He alius is so queer like, ye 
know, a carryin’ that ole fiddle around on his 
back.” 

“Well, I don’t see as that story has anything 
to do with a ‘hant.’ ” 

“Law, thar I got clean off my story, didn’t 
I ? Wall, as I was a say in’, I’ll never forgit that 
day, when ole man Crosby moved into the big 


62 


In the Garden oe Faith. 


house — it was blowin’ and a rainin’ He brung 
a sickly wife along with him. She died about 
four or five year arter he come, leavin’ a mite o’ 
a baby what they called Petina. Every bidy in 
the hills called her Tiny, she was so purty and 
little like. Had big black eyes what sparkled like 
diamonds. All the fellers around here was a 
wantin’ her afore she’d hardly reached her teens. 
I was a wantin’ her a little mite myself, and me 
nigh onto twenty year ole, when she was borned. 
I use ter happen along, when school was out, 
jist to help carry her books, and walk along 
beside of her fur a ways.” Bud heaved a sigh 
and pushing his hat back, scratched his head. 

“Well, that doesn’t seem to be much of a 
“spook” story either, “said Keith,” I don’t think 
I will let it keep me from going fishing to- 
morrow.” 

“Law me, now if I didn’t go and git clean off 
my story agin. Wall, it’s jist like this,” and 
Bud looked about, and leaned toward Keith 
as though he feared some one would hear, 
“folks do say that the ole man’s woman’s ‘hant’ 
has been seen a roamin’ around in these hills. 
Most likely it’s her hant what you seed that 
night ye came here five year ago.” 

“Oh, I presume I had a dream that night. 
Most likely I didn’t see anything.” 


63 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Bud shook his head. ''But it’s the same kind 
o’ hant that I seed.” 

"Well, perhaps you had a dream, too.” 

"Wall, I reckon I’d better be a lookin’ fur that 
mare,” and throwing his leg back over the old 
mule’s back. Bud picked up the reins of the 
bridle and rode off. 


64 


CHAPTRE IX. 


GRANNIE FALLS ASLEEP. 

Keith lay with eyes closed, but he was not 
asleep. Upon the soft carpet of green grass, in 
a corner of Faith's garden, he lay thinking — 
thinking — thinking. 

In the flood of emotions sweeping over him, 
it was given him to understand, that, in the loss 
of his dear one, he had been brought nearer to 
his God. Had she remained with him, he 
would have failed to do the work God had 
given him. In the joy and felicity of her glor- 
ious presence he would have always remained 
at her feet — a silent worshipper. He knew now 
that in the days he had spent with her he had 
been far from his God. He knew also that 
when she came back it would be to find him a 
different man. This time he would offer her a 
truer and a better love. He would bring her 
here among the roses, and when he did — then 
she would have come into his life to stay. 

Here, in the rose garden, he lived again the 
days of his companionship with her. Here, 
in the rose garden, with its four walls of hedge 
and vines, in the stillness of the early morning 
hours with his face turned to the clear canopy of 


65 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


heaven he came to know that Faith had not re- 
mained his because he had not been ready for her. 
He knew now that when he was ready God would 
bring her back. 

Lying there alone — alone with the roses and 
God — it was given Keith to understand that 
ere love and peace came into his life to stay, 
he must first be tested with trials and troubles. 
His manhood’s strength must be tested to the 
utmost. He was just beginning to feel the truth 
of the words, “Everything works together for 
good to them that love the Lord,” 

“What was it that mother used to say to me ?” 
he asked himself. “Oh, yes, ’You may be little, 
my son, but you can be great. Grandeur of 
soul is the prerogative of every person that lives. 
No matter what your station, the ladder up 
which you must climb will ever be in your reach, 
but remember, my son, that it will be essential 
for you to start at the bottom. Do the little 
things with noble purpose, and nobility of heart 
and sweetness of life will be your reward.’ 
What a dear, good mother she was,” he added, 
as he wiped a tear from his eye. 

He wondered if that sweetness of life, of 
which his mother spoke, would ever be his. 
Surely he had tried to do the little things. 
He had remained here among these hill people. 


66 


Grannie Falls Aslllp. 


giving them the best he had to give. He had 
written books, and had put into them, his best 
and noblest thoughts. He had never sought 
reward of any kind. 

Surely these hill people had profited by his 
teachings. He could see a great difference in 
the lives they were living now, and the lives 
they lived five years ago. He recalled how 
prone they had been to pull each other down, 
and how delighted they were to repeat a piece 
of scandal. 

H‘oM^ well he remembered the talk he had 
given them at the school house, because of their 
delight in wrecking the life of poor little Annie 
Devers. 

“The most cowardly thing a person can do,” 
he had said, “is to attempt to crush out the very 
life of a fellow companion by hints and low 
insinuations. Any person who does such a 
thing may be sure they are not right with their 
God. But there are people who cannot see a 
good deed done without attributing to it a bad 
motive. Wrapping themselves in a blanket of 
self-righteousness, some people sit in judge- 
ment over their fellofw-mortals, and dig and 
probe — no matter how much it hurts. If they 
can inflict a sting that can crush a life, the better 
they seem to like it. Some people love to re- 


67 


The Garden oe Faith. 


peat a’ they say’, just to cause a commotion, and 
to make a story a shade darker. Slander is 
envy’s favorite child.” 

Just as the grayness of dawn broke in the 
east, Keith arose from his position upon the 
grass in the garden and calling for Bosco, he 
picked up his fishing tackle and started down 
the path. After reaching the grass-grown road 
leading to the Fee home, he walked slowly, ex- 
pecting at any moment to meet with the strange 
lad. But the mile between the little bugalo-w 
and the big log house was passed without a sign 
of the youth. 

Just as he reached the clearing on the hill 
where the log house stood, he was startled by 
the crying of one in distress. Stopping, he 
listened, and learned that the sound came from 
the hazel bushes at the side of the road. Walk- 
ing up, he parted the brush, and peeped through. 
He could just see to distinguish the outlines of 
a human form. 

“What’s wrong, my friend?” he asked. 

“Olh, Mr. Barrington, my granny’s dead.” 
wailed George, breaking into fresh and violent 
weeping. 

It has been five years since we caught our first 
glimpse of “Grandmother’s George,” but to one 
in his condition five years makes but little 


68 


Grannie: Falls Asle:i:p. 


change. He still suffered from the strange 
^‘spells, a condition which made it impossible 
for him to derive much pleasure from life. And 
now that his best friend was gone the future 
indeed shone forth with a darkness as black 
and as drear as night itself. 

“Never mind, George,” said Keith in his 
kindly way,” perhaps you should be glad. Gran- 
nie won’t have to suffer any more, you know.” 

“But she may be a sufferin’ a hull lot worser. 
She may be a burnin’ and a sizzlin’. If you 
had a grannie what was likely a burnin’ in hell 
fire an’ brimstun, wouldn’t you cry?” 

“I presume I would, George,” Keith replied 
as he sat down beside the boy,” but I haven’t 
any grannie in any such a place, and neither 
have you.” 

“How do ye know I ain’t? Didn’t Preacher 
Gregg say jist ’tother Sunday that everybidy 
what was borned had to die, and everybidy what 
died had to go to either one o’ the two places — 
heaven er hell ? An’ didn’t he say that jist them 
folkses what was awful good — jist them what 
gives up everythin’ they got, and go out a fol- 
lerin’ Jesus — didn’t he say that jist them would 
go to heaven ? An’ didn’t he say that everybidy 
what didn’t be a follerin’ Jesus, would go to 
hell, and burn and burn — an’ they wouldn’t be 


69 


The Garden oe Faith. 


enough water in the hull world, er heaven either, 
to pit the fire out?” 

“Well, but just listen,” Keith could get no 
farther. The lad was excited. 

“And don’t I know that my grannie didn’t give 
up everythin’ she had to be a follerin’ Jesus? 
’Course she didn’t — so now, my p-o-o-r granny’s 
burnin’ in hell f-i-r-e an’ brimstun.” The lad 
threw himself upon the ground and kicked his 
feet and pounded his head. 

Keith put his arm around him. “Look here, 
George, I want to tell you something.” Keith 
slipped a Testament from his pocket. “You 
know what that is, don’t you?” 

“Yes, its where it tells all about my grannie a 
goin’ to hell, an’ a burnin’ an’ a sizzlin’.” 

“It doesn’t say anything of the kind. It’s where 
we are told all about how grannie is going to 
live again. Grannie isn’t in any place of tor- 
ment. She isn’t burning. This book tells us that 
the dead know not anything. Grannie isn’t in 
heaven, George. She is sound asleep — do you 
hear?” 

“No, grannie ain’t jist asleep, Mr. Barrington, 
she’s sure dead — she’s as dead as a door nail — 
they be a puttin’ her black alpaccie gownd on 
her right now. Mrs. Shaver an’ Mrs. Devers, 
they be a doin’ it.” 


70 


Grannie Falls Asleep. 


“See here, George, you don’t understand, and 
I don’t wonder at it, for there are many who are 
a great deal wiser that understand no better. But 
perhaps God wills that you should be told the 
truths of this Book. You may be one of the little 
babes who will understand quite readily, while 
those who feel themselves to be wise, will never 
understand at all. At least not until \ Christ 
comes.” 

“Mr. Barrington, I’ll believe what yo’ tell me. 
I know ye won’t lie to me, an’ I know ye know 
jist whar my grannie is; now, I want ye to tell 
me fur sure — -ain’t my grannie in hell?” 

“Do you know what hell is, George?” 

“I reckon I do. It’s a place where folks goes 
when they die, if they ain’t good — and I reckon 
that most o’ ’em goes thar.” 

“George, hell is a place where everybody goes 
when they die. Both the good and bad go to 
hell. Hell is the grave. Hell is the place where 
all those who do not and will not love the Lord, 
will be destroyed. In other words, hell fire will 
devour all those who will not give the Lord their 
hearts.” 

“Will yo’ go to hell when ye die?” 

“I will.” 

“Will I go to hell when I die?” 

“You will.” 


71 


The Garden of Faith. 

“Will I burn and sizzle?” 

“You will not.” 

“Where’s grannie right now?” 

“She’s asleep.” 

“Is she in hell?” 

“She is not. She will be in hell as soon as they 
put her in the grave.” 

“If she’s asleep now, will she wake up?” 

“She will.” 

“When be she agoin’ to wake up?” 

“When Christ comes again.” 

“Well, maybe my grannie went to heaven 
’stead o’ to hell.” 

“No, your grannie didn’t go to heaven. This 
Bible tells us that, 'No man has ascended unto 
heaven, but He that came down from heaven.' So 
you see no one has ever gone to heaven but 
Christ himself.” 

“Yes, they was. Grannie read to me out o’ 
that Bible, about the man what stealed, a goin’ to 
heaven. He went to heaven that very day. He 
was a hangin’ on a cross right ’longside o’ Jesus, 
when Jesus told him that he could go to heaven 
with him, right that day.” 

“George, did you ever stop to think that Jesus 
wasn’t speaking of a twenty-four hour day when 
He made that promise to the thief ? He couldn’t 
have meant that kind of a day, because you see 


72 


Gran NIK Falls Aslkkp. 


Jesus didn’t go to heaven Himself that day. 
Don’t you remember how He remained three days 
in the grave?” 

“I reckon He did, all right.” 

‘'And then, do you recall what God said to 
Adam, in the garden of Eden? Didn’t He say, 
‘In the day thou eatest thereof, thou shalt die ?’ ” 

“Yes, that’s ’zackly what He said. Grannie^ 
she read it to me a lot o’ times.” 

“Well, did Adam die the day he ate the fruit?” 

“Wall, I jist reckon he didn’t. God jist sent 
him right out o’ the garden.” 

“Yes He sent him out of the garden. And you 
see God wasn’t speaking of a twenty-four hour 
day when He said that to Adam. He meant that 
Adam should die in his day. Adam did die in his 
day. And we must all die because Adam dis- 
obeyed his Father’s voice. Don’t you remember 
what Paul said to the Corinthians? He said, 
‘For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall 
all be made alive.’ That’s the reason we are so 
glad because Christ came. George, what is the 
price which every man must pay because of his 
sin?” 

“He must burn and sizzle in hell fire an’ brim 
stun. Preacher Gregg said onct, ‘If ye ain’t all- 
fired keerful how ye live, ye’ll go to hell a 
crackin’, an’ ye’ll bum furever and furever, an’ 


73 


The Garden oe Faith. 


arter ye onct git in hell they ain’t no gittin’ on ye 
out. The devil an’ all his angels could a never 
git ye out.’ ” 

“George, before Adam ever committed the sin, 
God told him what his punishment would be, and 
of all his posterity after him. God said, Tn the 
day thou eatest thereof thou shalt die.’ If God 
had meant that a man should go to hell and burn. 
He would have said so. There is no place in the 
Bible where we are told that a man must burn 
because of his sins. That is, no place where it 
says we shall be tortured forever and forever. 
Remember this, George, 'The wages of sin is 
death.’ ” 

“An’ won’t I never git to see my grannie any 
more ?” 

“ 'The wages of sin is death,’ but that is not 
the end. Before the world ever was, God planned 
to send a Redeemer. He planned to overcome 
death. He planned to give us back that which we 
lost through Adam. Can you remember anything 
about a Lamb having been slain from the foun- 
dation of the world?” 

“I reckon I do. Grannie said as how the Lamb 
was Jesus, and as how He died to save me and 
her.” 

''That’s just it exactly. 'For God sent not his 
Son into the world to condemn the world, but 


74 


Grannie: Falls Asleep. 


that the world through Him might be saved.' So 
you see that is why Jesus died upon the cross, 
just so that you and grannie and all the world 
might live again." 

'‘But I reckon I’ll be mighty lonesome without 
grannie." 

“That is a portion of the price we have to pay 
because of our sins. We must not only suffer and 
die, but we must suffer by seeing others die. I 
know just how lonely you will be, George, and I 
want you to come to me whenever you feel that 
you need me." 

The man and the youth arose and made their 
way toward the big log house. And the man 
who was just beginning to bear his own burden 
with a brave heart was ready and willing to help 
in the bearing of his brother’s burden. As he 
walked along he quoted in a low tone, “Bear ye 
one another’s burdens and thus fulfill the law of 
Christ." 


75 


CHAPTER X. 


THE BOY IN THE WOODS. 

A week passed, and Wednesday morning 
dawned with clear skies. Just outside the win- 
dow, in the garden back of the bungalow, a robin 
chirruped and twittered. Through the open win- 
dow the sweet perfume of the roses was wafted. 
In the east the sky was tinted with a variety of 
colors which no artist could hope to portray. 

Keith awakened, heard the twittering of the 
robin, caught the scent from the roses, and saw 
depicted upon the canvas of heaven the wonder- 
ful painting of God’s mighty hand. No wonder 
his heart was filled with reverence and venera- 
tion for the Almighty. 

He arose from his bed as one in a dream. 
Slipping his feet into a pair of bath slippers he 
pulled a robe up over his arms and made his 
way to the garden of Faith. Throwing himself 
upon the dew-moistened grass he gave himself 
up to devout reflections. 

The odor of the roses made him think of other 
days. His mind drifted back to mother and to 
youth. Once again he knew a mother’s tender 
kiss and a mother’s gentle touch. Once again he 
was being rocked upon the shelter of her breast. 


76 


The Boy in the Woods. 


With eyes closed he could feel the old chair 
swaying — backward, forward, to and fro. The 
winds, in tender playfulness, lifted a lock of his 
hair and blew it across his brow. Mother seemed 
smoothing his hair again. A smile played about 
the corners of his mouth, and over his face there 
came a look almost holy in its peacefulness. 

The soft notes of her lullaby seemed to float 
upon the morning air. The imaginary sound 
seemed to cleanse his soul for its daily worship. 
On pinions, unchanged by years of separation, 
the spirit of his mother’s luminous love hung over 
him like a guiding star, leading his frail bark to 
the harbor of safety. 

So real were these reflections that Keith was 
startled by his own voice repeating, ''O’ course 
you can’t see her, mumsie dear, ’cause you aren’t 
a fairy, and really, truly live people can’t see 
dream-girls.” His voice sank in a low sob. 

The song of the robin lost all its melody, the 
scent of the rose lost its fragrant perfume, and 
the beautiful painting of God’s mighty hand upon 
the canvas of heaven lost all elegance. The smile 
faded from his face, and in its stead came a look 
of pain and suffering. Where was the elfin crea- 
ture, that companion of childhood days? Where 
was the little dream-girl with dark brown eyes, 
and waving auburn tresses ? Where, indeed ? 


77 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Keith buried his face in his hands and wept, 
whereupon Bosco, who had been lying there 
mutely watching his master’s every movement 
with knowing eyes and wagging tail, arose and 
walking up to the man he thrust out his nose 
and licked the few salty tears from the bearded 
face. 

“Get away,” said Keith, “what do you mean 
by sticking your dirty nose in my face?” Bosco 
wagged his tail and cocked his head on the other 
side. 

“Tomorrow,” said Keith, as he put his arm 
around the dog’s neck, “tomorrow I’ll be leaving 
you for a few days. You must be a good sport 
and watch this garden while I’m gone. She might 
come back any time. If she should come while 
I am gone, and you are here, she will know I’m 
coming back. Queen has to watch at our town- 
house, and you must watch here. You see, old 
fellow, we don’t exactly know just which place 
she will strike first. But we must be ready.” 

Bosco sat down and beat the ground with his 
tail. “Now, don’t be worrying about what you 
will have to eat,” said the man, “George will look 
after you. He always does, doesn’t he?” 

The next afternoon was dark and dismal. A 
profound fog had covered the rivers, the valleys 
and the big city all day. A tiny stream, a silvery. 


78 


The^ Boy in the Woods. 


thread-like brook, ran babbling over rocks and 
pebbles, creating sounds of many alternations. 

Over the topmost branches of the trees, the 
vapor hung like a loose, flimsy bridal veil. It 
made one think of the thin partition which sepa- 
rates this land of reality, from the land of almost 
mystery. 

The wind, soughing through the branches, 
seemed to speak in voices of many tones — some 
angry, some friendly, some happy, and some 
mournful. An imaginative mind could easily 
make of the fog-covered trees a home-beautiful, 
inhabitated by many elf-like creatures. To the 
little dreamer, sitting in solitude, this was so. 

Robert sat leaning against the knotted oak 
His head rested against its trunk. His face was 
turned upward, revealing his delicately molded 
throat. With dreamy eyes he looked with a de- 
luded vision into the mists. Drawing his bare, 
slim, white legs up, he clasped his arms about 
them. 

Beside him, upon a square, flat stone, stood a 
pair of red-topped shoes, each stuffed with a silk 
stocking. 

Robert was in his favorite nook, sitting in his 
favorite attitude. He really found more pleasure 
here with his dream-companions than he did in 
playing with the children of the neighborhood. 


79 


The Garden oe Faith. 


The fairies had such jolly times together. 

Some days they danced all day long. Others, 
they quarreled and fought, and once there had 
been the worst thing happen. A beautiful fairy 
princess had died. Her elfin brothers and sisters 
had mourned so at her funeral that long, long 
after the beautiful fairy creature had been placed 
in her grave, when Robert had been disturbed 
by his mother’s call, he found himself unable to 
stifle the sobs in his throat, and also unable to 
make any explanation in regard to a cause for 
them. 

As Robert sat gazing into the mists, a cater- 
pillar, big and round and hairy, came crawling 
transversely across the rock. Up across his little 
bare leg it started. Robert reached out and picked 
it up. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he 
said, ‘You poor ’ittle worm, you can’t never have 
no fun. You can’t never be a fairy.” 

The worm squirmed. Robert watched it with 
narrowing, thoughtful eyes. “Never mind, nasty 
worm, if you can’t be no fairy you can be a angel, 
and they is most as good. ’Course God won’t 
never let angels fight like the fairies do, but it’ll 
be a lot nicer to be a angel than a old, nasty, hairy 
worm what can’t do nothin’ but ’ist crawl.” 

Robert laid the worm carefully upon the rock. 
“In all my life-long days I never had to ’ist crawl. 


80 


The Boy in the Woods. 


and I ’most know you’ll have a nice time up 
to God’s heaven,” he said, as he picked up a shoe 
and deliberately crushed the hairy thing. 

“Hey, kiddie, what are you doing?” called 
a voice from behind the big tree. 

“S-h-h-h,” said Robert, with his finger to his 
lip, “don’t talk so loud, and don’t let that dog 
bark, ’cause I’m ’specting a angel to come ’long 
any minute now to get this worm and take it 
up to heaven.” 

Keith Barrington grasped his dog by the collar. 
He looked at the boy through half closed eyelids. 
He felt a something in his heart that he could 
not describe. A something that made him want 
to rub his eyes and look again. If it wasn’t for 
those big brown eyes he could almost swear that 
he was a child again, and was looking at himself 
in the little pool behind the old red barn. 

The dog, who was a sister to Bosco, and the 
mother of three little babies, grew restless. She 
ran up and smelled of the worm, and then turned 
and trotted off as fast as she could go. She had 
no time for foolish things as long as there were 
three little mouths to be fed. 

Robert’s eyes flashed with resentment. “Well,” 
he said, “they ain’t no use o’ ’specting a angel 
to come when they’s a dog like that around. I’ve 
never seen God send a angel for anything yet. I 


81 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


’ist ain’t never seen a angel in all my life-long 
days. I killed my nice, white kittie once so God 
would send a angel for it, and I sat a long, long 
time waitin’ for it to come, but o’ ’course ’fore 
the angel corned, Jim, he had to come ’long, and 
they ain’t no angel what would come where he is. 
He’s got such a crooked back.” 

“Did you kill that little larva butterfly thinking 
that God would send an angel for it?” Keith 
asked, as he stretched himself upon the ground 
beside the boy. 

“I didn’t kill no butterfly, mister, I ’ist killed 
that old nasty worm ’cause you see it couldn’t 
never have no fun. It couldn’t never be a fairy 
and play things.” 

“Well, that poor little caterpillar would have 
developed into a beautiful butterfly. Didn’t you 
know that, my boy ?” 

“And would it ha’ flew over my mamma’s 
roses?” asked Robert, in an eager tone. 

“Undoubtedly it would have, laddie, if your 
mamma has a garden around here somewhere.” 

Robert burst into a flood of tears. “Oh, I wish 
I hadn’t killed it. God’s — forgot — to — send — for 
it — any — how, and ’sides butterflies are ’bout as 
nice as angels.” The little fellow threw himself 
upon the grass and cried as though his little heart 
would break. 


82 


Tm Boy in the Woods. 


Keith laid his hand upon the curly head. He 
caressed the soft, brown ringlets. How like 
Faith’s they were. He longed to bend his head 
and kiss the fluffy mass. He spoke no word of 
comfort. He let the lad have his cry out. To 
himself he was saying, “The Master knows that 
every little plant needs watering to make it grow. 
Sometimes I feel that he sends tears to water just 
such little plants as this. The Master has a lot 
of plants like this in His big garden, and I’ve 
always noticed that the ones that are wet the most 
frequently are the ones that are worth the wet’ 
ting.” 

The dog came running back to her master. She 
laid down by his side and licked his hand. 

The sun was just peeping through the mists 
when Robert peeped through little, wet fingers at 
Keith and the dog. Keith saw, and he silently 
reached out and gave the dog’s tail a gentle pull. 
The dog responded quickly to the well known 
challenge and began performing a circulative 
“stunt” to the delight of Robert. 

“I wish I had a dog. I never had a dog in all 
my life-long days. Floyd Dunbar ’s got a black 
one, with a white tail. Floyd, he finks we’re too 
poor to have a dog, but we ain’t. We ain’t poor at 
all. Are you poor?” 

“Well, I don’t think I’m very rich,” said Keith, 


83 


The Garden oe Faith. 


highly amused. He couldn’t remember just how 
long it had been since he had had a talk with a 
little fellow like this. He found himself wanting 
to repeat the lad’s seemingly favorite expression, 
^T ain’t never seen a boy like this in all my life- 
long days.” Aloud, he said, ‘'How would you 
like to have a nice little puppy?” 

“Oh, my, mister. I’d like to have it better ’n 
anything. I’d ’most as soon have it as I would 
to have a lot o’ sisters and brothers, and I’m 
’specting to have a lot o’ ’em. Floyd Dunbar and 
me, we’re a prayin’ every night now, for God to 
bring us some. I’ve got the most now. I got two 
brothers. Floyd, he ain’t got anything.” 

“Well, just you keep on praying for them, 
sonny. I don’t know as you could ask the Lord 
for anything more sensible. If I know anything 
about it, David Dunbar can well take care of 
about six more little ones. And you don’t look as 
though you were any poorer than Job’s turkey,” 
said Keith as he began drawing one of the silk 
stockings over Robert’s leg. 

“Poorer than Job’s turkey?” cried Robert, in 
surprised indignation. “Well, I know who telled 
you that. It was Floyd. But that ain’t so about 
Job’s turkey. Job ain’t got no turkey. I asked 
him about it. Floyd, he telled a-a-a untruth.” 

From afar, at the rear of the woods, came the 


84 


The Boy in the Woods. 


voice of a violin. The sweet, beautiful strain fell 
in a sad and mournful tone. The boy jumped 
to his feet. “1 got to go now. Jim’s coming for 
me. He always plays when mamma wants me to 
come home. Say, do you know what he’s a say- 
ing? He’s a tellin’ all the fairies about his crook- 
ed back.” 

The boy started. Keith stood looking after 
him. 'T’ll come tomorrow for the puppy,” the 
lad called back as he left the scene. Keith threw 
himself upon the ground and fell asleep to dream 
of woodland nymphs with curling, brown tresses. 


85 


CHAPTER XL 
KEEPING THE TRYST. 

The next day, in his town house, Keith might 
have been discovered sitting at his desk, pen in 
hand. The pen was slightly raised. It was clear- 
ly evident that he had completely forgotten to 
write down the sentence he had just formed. 

All morning his thoughts had been of the 
strange boy. He was wondering who he was, 
and where he lived. He must live somewhere 
near, else he would not have been playing in — 
what Keith had supposed was his private prop- 
erty. The Barrington’s had owned this wood- 
land property when the land circumjacent was 
nothing but a mud hole and a swamp. He could 
remember of his father saying, as he motioned 
with his hand toward the big city homes that 
were constantly creeping nearer, '‘Got the whole 
thing for a pair of rubber boots and a two dollar 
razor.” 

Presently Keith laid the pen in the tray, and 
tipping his chair back he rubbed his bearded 
chin. "I can’t for the life of me see how that 
kid got inside the grounds. I gave James strict 
orders to keep the kids out of there. I’ll have to 
speak to him about it,” he said as he arose and 
started for the kennels. 


86 


Keeping the Tryst. 


He found Queen lying upon a clean bed, made 
of sweet, fresh straw. She was guarding her 
little ones with tender care. As Keith drew 
near she looked at him with eager, questioning 
eyes. It was as thought she would ask: "‘What 
are you doing here? Will you take my babies 
from me?” 

He took the puppies up, one at a time, and 
examined them carefully. He couldn’t have told 
for the life of him just why he was so particular 
about this selection, but he was quite sure that he 
wanted to choose the best. “Must be because the 
little shaver has eyes so much like Faith’s,” he 
murmured as he selected the prettiest white col- 
lie in the bunch. The puppy was perfectly white 
with the exception of one tan ear and one tan foot. 

Bestowing an affectionate pat upon Queen’s 
head, and assuring her that her son would ever 
have the best of care, Keith took the shortest 
route leading to the trysting place. 

All unconsciously life was quickening in his 
pulses. The dreary, lonely days of the past five 
years were rolling swiftly by, bringing him to the 
turbulent, murmurous waters of the deep, deep 
sea. Soon the quietness of his life would be dis- 
turbed by the cares and troubles that were rightly 
his. Not by silent, lonely suffering, such as he 
had been given, but by the sufferings that come 


87 


The Garden oe Faith. 


with the words : "‘For better or for worse.^' 

Upon the left, as he walked, the road was 
bordered by the great woods, while to the right 
the houses making up the city stretched as far as 
eye could see. Behind him, in the distance, the 
majestic hills arose, looking black and purple in 
their remoteness. 

He followed a path leading to the inclosure 
of the wooded land. As he stopped to unlock 
the big, iron gate upon which the big letters read, 
‘‘Barrington Park — Private,'' he listened. A big 
touring car was coming up the road. 

Keith’s face paled, his limbs trembled, and he 
clung to the fence for support. In the back seat 
of the car sat John LaVelle. It was the first time 
Keith had seen him since the morning he re- 
ceived Faith’s note. 

The sound of the car died away in the dis- 
tance. The puppy squirmed in Keith’s arms. 
Keith was holding it too tightly. He slipped it 
inside his coat and wiped the perspiration from 
his brow. 

He did not regain his equipoise until he came 
in sight of the waiting lad. Then he forgot all 
else. He forgot that he had evci had a trial or a 
sorrow. The boy took him back to dreamland 
days. Back to the days that knew no sadness nor 


88 


Ki:eping the Tryst. 


sorrow. Back to the days that were made up of 
roses, dream-girls and fairies. 

Standing with body rigid, and his hand upon 
his soldier sword, Robert was saying in a voice 
of expressive tone, ^Xook, look — the dirty, black, 
old ogre has caught the ’ittle girl with the golden 
curls — and he is putting her — in the boiling water 
— where he finks he will cook her for the old 
ogress’ dinner, but he won’t — ’cause he don’t get 
her in — ” Here the lad make a quick dive, and 
thrust his shining sword through a leaf of a 
‘’milk-weed” plant. 

Pulling the sword back, Robert continued, “No, 
sir, he didn’t get her in, ’cause the fairy prince, he 
corned along and sticked his shiny, ’ittle sword 
into the old ogre, and his blood runned out, and 
it turned white like milk, and it runned and 
runned all over the ground.” 

“So he is dead, is he?” asked Keith, coming 
into view. 

“Yes, sir, he’s dead, and his blood runned all 
over the ground and five fousand fairies corned 
and drinked it up.” 

“Fee, fo, fie, fum, I smell the blood of an Eng- 
lishman,” quoted Keith. 

“ ’Taint no Englishman’s blood you smell, it’s 
the ogres. The Englishman didn’t die out in the 
woods, he died in the ’ittle glass house at the top 


89 


The Garden oe Faith. 


o’ Jark’s bean-stalk — didn’t you know that?” 

“Seems as though I did hear something about 
it.” 

“Yes,” and Robert nodded his curly head while 
the corners of his mouth came down in lines of 
assurance, “y^s, he died away up at the top o’ 
the bean-stalk. I been up to see him a lot o’ times. 
Floyd Dunbar, he ain’t never been up there. Was 
you ever up there?” 

“Well, I can’t say that I’ve been there lately. 
It has been a long time since I was there. How 
did you go up ? Did you take an air-ship ?” 

“Pooh, no, I never went like that in all my 
life long days. Why, a feller couldn’t go that a 
way, the noise would drive all the fairies away.” 

“Well, I’ll bet you went as I use to go. You 
climbed up the bean-stalk with your little, red 
hatchet.” 

“No, I didn’t, but I fink that would be a good 
way to go. I fink I’ll go that a way next time.” 

“Well, how have you been going?” 

“Why, I been a goin’ like all fairies go. I went 
with the ’ittle Lame Prince, on his big leaf.” 

Keith stroked his mouth to keep from smiling. 
Here was a boy he could thoroughly understand. 
Here was a boy worth knowing. He mentally 
decided to tell James to let this lad have free ac- 
cess to all his grounds. 


90 


Ke^Eping the Tryst. 


“What makes your coat stick out? Have you 
got the puppy in there? I ’most forgot all about 
it” cried Robert, walking up and taking a peep. 

“I am going to give you this nice, roly-poly 
puppy/' said Keith, “but first you must promise 
to be good to him. I never give bad boys little 
puppies.” 

“Oh, oh, oh,” cried Robert, as Keith brought 
the puppy to light and it began blinking its eyes, 
“I never seen such a nice doggie in all my life 
long days.” 

“What are you going to call him?” Keith 
asked. 

“I fink ril call him Laddie. Do you fink 
Laddie would be a nice name for this beauti- 
fulestest dog that ever was?” 

“You couldn’t possibly think of a better one.” 

Looking into the big brown eyes of the boy 
Keith was overcome by a longing to kiss the tiny 
rose-bud mouth. It seemed as though the soul 
of Faith cried aloud to him. He knelt upon the 
ground and drew the lad to him : “Will you kiss 
me for the puppy?” he asked. 

The boy threw his arm around Keith’s neck, 
“ ’Course I’ll kiss you for givin’ me Laddie. I’d 
’bout kiss you for nothin’,” he said, as he planted 
a resounding salute of affection upon Keith’s 
cheek. 


91 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Slowly Robert drew himself backward. He 
rubbed his hand across his lips, and stared with 
astonished eyes at Keith’s face. ‘‘Why, you’re all 
burry,” he said, “I never kissed a burry fing in all 
my life long days.” 

Keith laughed at the boy’s surprise. “Don’t 
your papa ever kiss you ?” he asked. 

“My, no, my papa don’t kiss me. He can’t. 
He’s far, far away.” 

“The poor rascal,” said Keith, “he doesn’t know 
a good thing when he has it.” 

“Oh, yes he does. He knows everything. He 
is the goodest man that ever lived, and you must 
never call him a rascal. My mamma wouldn’t 
like it. 

Thinking the lad was speaking of a father 
whom he knew personally, and loved as does all 
children, Keith changed the subject. “I think we 
had better be going home, my boy, don’t you ?” 

“Yes, I fink I’d better get this blessed Laddie 
home so my mamma can see him. My, but she’ll 
be s’prised.” 

Bending his curly head over the dog and whis- 
pering words of endearment, Robert started. 
Then it was that Keith thought to ask him how 
he could get through the gate. “How can you 
open the big gate, sonny? Aren’t you afraid the 
man who owns this place will get after you?” 


92 


Keeping the Tryst. 


“Oh, my, no, I ain’t afraid, ’cause they ain't 
no-body what owns this place but me. Didn’t 
you see my name on the big gate when you corned 
in? Or did James let you in at the back way? 
My mamma, she never will come here wif me, but 
she lets me come whenever I want to. She telled 
James to let me in through the garding. So I al- 
ways have to go away up to that big house afore 
I can get in here. But I can get through there 
any time, ’cause James he leaves the gate un- 
locked always. He does it ’ist for me.” 

Robert’s voice died away in the distance. He 
had been talking as he walked backwards. Keith 
couldn’t understand what the child had meant. 
He couldn’t understand why James should leave 
the gate unlocked. He begun to half believe that 
Robert was some relative, of whom James had 
never told him. He meant to speak to James 
about it as soon as he got home. 

Thus pondering, Keith came to the gate, and 
just as he was fumbling with the lock the sound 
of an automobile reached his ear. Through the 
opening just ahead he could see a small portion 
of the road. He stood still and looked, his heart 
all a-tremble, for he feared he might look again 
upon the man who had so heartlessly betrayed his 
friendship. 


S3 


The Garden oe Faith. 


A big touring car passed the opening. It was 
just like the one he had seen upon entering the 
woods, but in the back seat of this machine sat 
a man with a black, bushy beard. 


94 


CHAPTER XII 


THE ABDUCTION OF ROBERT. 

Barrington Park lay at the extremity of the 
city, and from it the road divided into two 
branches; one led directly to the city and the 
other led into the rural district. On the road 
leading to the city many houses could be seen, 
but in the opposite direction there was but little 
to obstruct the view until one came to the hills 
in the distance. 

High up against the horizon stood the huge, 
conical masses. Like giant mounds they seemed 
to be guarding that region from the keen, hun- 
gry, north winds, and also to be guarding it from 
the too frequent visits of man. In the distance 
they looked indeed, to be shrouded in purple mys- 
tery. 

Little Robert came to the bifurcation of the 
road and stood for a moment looking at the giant 
hills in the distance, a circumstance which made 
it easy for the man in the back seat of the auto- 
mobile to reach out and lift him by the collar. 

“Want to take a ride, kid?” asked the man. 

Robert glanced at his abductor. La Valle need 
not have worn the big, black beard to hide his 
features. Robert had long since forgotten him. 


95 


The Garden oe Faith. 


The lad hugged the puppy tightly in his arms. 
'The big, black ogre’s got us, Laddie,” he whis- 
pered in a loud tone. 

"You’ll think ogre before he gets through with 
you,” said LaVelle, as he held a handkerchief 
over the lad’s face. There was a gasp, a con- 
tracting of muscles and Robert lay back all pale 
and helpless. 

"Drive like the devil,” called LaVelle to the 
man in the front seat, "and don’t let us be seen 
along here. As you come to the house there, 
slow down and go easy like. We don’t want to 
arouse suspicion.” 

"All right, boss,” called the driver over his 
shoulder, and the car glided swiftly over the 
ground. Coming to the big house it slowed 
down and LaVelle caught a transient view of 
Keith Barrington as the latter arrived home from 
his meeting with the strange lad. Afterwards 
Keith remembered the big car, but at the time he 
thought nothing of it. 

Several teams were passed, one or two cars met 
but not a person suspicioned that in the bottom of 
the big touring car occupied by the burly looking 
man a little child, loved and cherished by one now 
being left far behind, lay all limp and unpro- 
tected from a human monster who would not hes- 


96 


Thk Abduction of Robert. 

itate to inflict upon the little creature all sorts 
of pain. 

Over steep hills, along shaded valleys, and 
through clumps of woodland, the big car made 
its way, and the farther it went the more soli- 
tary and miserable the surrounding country be- 
came. 


“I gaddy,’’ said Uncle Johnny, as he chalked 
a string, “I tole ye right in the beginin’ that 
them folks what was a doin’ so much talkin’ about 
Annie would see the day when they’d be ashamed 
o’ it. And now, I reckon, they are seein’ it.” 

Uncle Johnny was getting ready to close his 
shop for the day. Several of the hills people 
were standing near. Some were waiting here 
while the blacksmith finished a piece of work for 
them. The cause of the above remark had just 
passed the shop, clinging to the arm of a tall, lean 
light-haired man with a sallow complexion. Be- 
side them ran a little girl of about three years. 

Four years prior to this time little Annie De- 
vers had been imprudent enough to run away 
to the city and marry this stranger. At least 
she had claimed to be married to him, but most 
of the hills people had found it a pleasure to 
doubt it. Especially when Annie returned to the 
Point a year later, bringing with her the baby 


97 


The: Garde:n oi^ Faith. 


girl, but no husband. Such an opportunity for a 
delightful bit of gossip was not to be let slip, 
and the hills people promptly availed themselves 
of it. 

For three years Annie had lived among them 
a cynosure for all their scandal. Her mother had 
urged her to let her Uncle Johnny know the 
truth of her marriage, and thus relieve his mind 
of any doubt, but Annie had only replied with 
warmth in her tone, “Maw, if Uncle Johnny don’t 
have no better opinion o’ me than that, I reckon 
he kin think what he’s a mind to. A ain’t han- 
kerin’ after no friends what can’t believe in me, 
without me a bringin’ ’em proof. Allen ’ill be a 
cornin’ back some day, and then they’ll know how 
they hev believed lies about me. And the ones 
what hev tol the lies will be knowed to be liars.” 

So this evening Annie was the happiest per- 
son in all the hills. Her long absent husband 
had just returned, and the tongues of the gos- 
sipers were wagging hard, trying to tell how each 
owner had always believed in Annie. 

“Matter o’ course. I’ve told ye all along that 
you’d find out as how she was married. I gaddy, 
Annie was alius a nice gal, and ye ort to o’ 
knowed it. Ye ort to a stood up fer her when 
she needed ye. She won’t be needin’ ye now, 
I reckon. I don’t know what ye can all do to make 


98 


The: Abduction ob Robert. 


up to Annie fur it/’ continued Uncle Johnny, as 
he laid the chalk on the work bench. 

'T cal’late we can’t do nothin’. They don’t 
seem to be nothin’ fur us to do. But I’m glad 
that I didn’t start none o’ the tales, though I 
reckon it’s about as bad to believe ’em,” said Dad 
Hazelton, as he squirted a streak of brown saliva 
toward the open door. 

“Hey, you fellers in thar,” called a voice 
through the noise of a chugging engine. 

“Law, ye fellers wouldn’t notice a bidy if they 
driv up in a air-ship, would ye ?” called Bud Sha- 
ver as Uncle Johnny and his visitors appeared 
in the doorway. 

“I gaddy, if Bud ain’t gone and got hisself a 
autymobile. What ye drivin’ clean up to the 
door fur, ain’t they room enough fur ye in the 
street ?” asked Uncle Johnny. 

“Ain’t afeared that ole mule o’ mine will kick 
ye, air ye. Bud?” asked Big George Fee, while 
the men gathered around. 

“No, I ain’t afeared o’ it a kickin’, but I didn’t 
know about this machine,” replied Bud, with 
pride in his tone. 

“Say, ye fellers ort to see a car what I seed 
’tother day. My, but she was a peach. Ye 
couldn’t guess in forty years where I seed it 
either,” Bill Brody remarked as he unscrewed 


99 


The Garden oe Faith. 


the top from the water tank and looked in. “Yes, 
sir, she sure was a hummer,” he continued, screw- 
ing the top back on, “she was a standin’ in front 
o’ that old house up on Honey Hill.” 

“Wall, what was a autymobile a doin’ up thar? 
They ain’t nobidy lived thar fur thirty years, I 
reckon,” said Bud, lying upon his back beneath 
the car. 

“Don’t axt me what she was a doin’ thar. That’s 
what I’d like to have some o’ ye tell me,” replied 
Bill. 

There was a whir and a chug in the distance, 
and around the corner came a big touring car. 
In the back seat sat a black-bearded man, while 
a little man wearing goggles bent over the stear- 
ing gear. 

“Thar she be now,” cried Bill in excited tones, 
“ain’t she a hum-blummer ?” 

A streak of dust, a smell of gasoline, and the 
crowd was left standing in open mouth astonish- 
ment. “I cal’late we’ll we’ll have to have a speed 
limit sign put up,” said Bud, “I wouldn’t never 
da’st to meet that thing ’long the road fur fear 
she’d knock the whay out o’ this car o’ mine.” 


The big car spend on until it come to a hill 
much steeper than all the rest. At the top of 
the hill the trees grew thicker as though they 


100 


Th^ Abduction of Robert. 


had dimed up and huddled together to whisper 
of the secrets and horrible deeds committed in 
their desolate community. In the midst of these 
trees, on the top of this hill, called by the hill 
people “Honey,” there tottered a ramshackle log 
house of one and one-half stories. 

When the car drove up and stopped in front 
of the door an old woman appeared coming 
around the corner of the house. She was angular 
of form and walked with a stoop. Her forehead 
was prominent, her cheek bones were high and 
her nose was hooked. 

“Hello, Nancy,” called LaVelle, as the car 
came to a stop, “got a place ready for the youngs- 
ter?” 

“I reckon I hev. What ye think I’ve been a 
doin’? But whar’s the kid?” 

“He’s here,” LaVelle replied, as he lifted little 
Robert from the bottom of the car. “I suspect 
we’d better get him inside; he’s apt to wake up 
any minute now.” 

“My name’s Nancy Rooter, sir, and I corned 
o’ good hones’ folks. And I don’t cal’late to carry 
on this kind o’ a goin’s on without a seein’ the 
color o’ the money what yer goin’ to give me fur 
it,” replied the old woman with the business end 
of the deal in view. 

LaVelle slipped something into her hand. 


101 


- The Garden oe Faith. 


whereupon the woman said, T cariate the back 
room ain’t got no tenant, ye can bring yer boy in 
than” 

'‘How do you like your country home?” La 
Velle asked as he carried the lad into the house. 

“Gur-r-r,” exclaimed the old woman, grinning 
and showing her yellow snags of teeth, “this ain’t 
no Coney Island show.” 

Into a little back room LaVelle carried Robert. 
As he entered the musty smelling place a mouse 
scampered across the floor, and a window rattled 
in its casing creating a dreary sound. He hastily 
deposited his burden upon the dirty bed and left 
the room, locking the door behind him. 


102 


CHAPTER XIII. 


BEGINNING THE SEARCH. 

Meanwhile, at the little cottage great anxiety 
had arisen. As the shades of evening began to 
gather about the little home Faith began to look 
for Robert’s return, and when the sun sank in 
the west and still he did not appear she bade 
Jim go out and call as was frequently his cus- 
tom. 

So Jim took his violin from its place against 
the wall and wandered toward the wooded park. 
When he arrived at his accustomed place he gent- 
ly patted the instrument, lifting it slowly to his 
chin, and then, with a smile about his lips he 
drew the bow softly over the strings until he 
brought forth a rippling, joyous melody. Ti- 
tania, with her fairy band, seemed to be trans- 
ported half way around the world. The ripplings 
of water falls, the dancing of moon-beams, the 
shootings of star-dust, all seemed to have a part 
in the glad melody. 

As this sort of a call did not seem to bring the 
boy Jim changed his method. There was a 
moment’s pause, then there came a sound all deep 
and wonderful, following it, there came a touch 
that voiced the ministry of deepest pain. One 


103 


The Garden oe Faith. 


who understood might truly feel themselves 
drawn to the foot of the Holy Cross or carried 
in spirit to the garden of Gethsemane. 

After this Jim waited, peering with eager eyes 
through the mists of the gathering even-tide. 
Over the city night drew her mantle of blackest 
velvet. Darkness settled over the woodland park. 
Jim grew uneasy, never before had Robert failed 
to respond to his call. 

‘T’ll have to go up to the big house and tell 
James about it,” he murmured to himself, ‘T 
wouldn’t dare go home without him. Mrs. La 
Velle would be worried to death.” 

While he made his way to the great Barrington 
home his mind was busy. “Funny, anyhow,” he 
said, “why James never will let anyone in this 
park but Robert. I almost know it’s because he’s 
relation. I’ll bet the Mr. Barrington who owns 
this place is his uncle.” So saying, Jim turned 
into the driveway. 

Keith was sitting on the porch watching the 
stars come out. “Good evening,” he said as Jim 
came up the steps. 

“Good evening” responded Jim,” is Mr. James 
here ?” 

“Yes, he’s back by the kennels, but sit down; 
it’s a glorious evening, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir, it is, but I cannot sit down — I’m in a 


104 


Beginning the Search. 


great hurry, and I’m awfully worried. I would 
like to get into your park, if you please.” 

“And why get in there at this unusual hour, 
my boy?” 

“Well, sir. I’ve lost my brother — that is, sir, 
my brother came to play in your park this after- 
noon and he hasn’t returned. His mother is aw- 
fully worried about him.” 

Keith was all attention. If this lad had refer- 
ence to the little tot to whom he gave the puppy 
why he felt sure the little fellow was not there. 
He was quite sure he had left the park quite early. 
He was sure that was who he meant, for the little 
thing had said he had a brother with a crooked 
back. 

“We will get lanterns and go right out,” said 
Keith as he arose from his chair. 

Soon three lanterns were made ready, and 
Keith, followed by Jim, the cripple, and James, 
the butler, went out into the night to look for 
the missing one. As James watched his master, 
and noted his anxiety, he mumbled to himself, 
“Anyone would think to see how anxious he is 
that he knew he was looking for his own son, 
but he don’t; he don’t know a thing about it 
I’ve never told him a word. I told Faith the very 
first thing when I learned she was living in the 
little cottage there, that I wouldn’t tell — though 


105 


The Garden oe Faith. 


goodness knows Fd have told quick enough had I 
known she was in need when she was sick.’^ Sud- 
denly he came to a stop and burst forth in a 
loud laugh, ‘‘He surely is a smart one, is that lit- 
tle chap — told me not to let any one in his park 
to play, especially that Floyd Dunbar, and when 
I asked who told him it was his park, he looked 
at me in a way that would seemingly ask how 
I came to know so little — and then, as the corners 
of his mouth came down, said, can’t you read 
my name right over that big gate — don’t it say 
Barrington Park, jist as plan as can be?” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Keith 
surprising the old man in his soliloquy. 

“I say I think most likely the little one has 
fallen asleep somewhere.” 

“For my part, I don’t think he is in here,” 
Keith replied. “I saw him leaving this afternoon. 
He’s the chap to whom I gave the puppy, you 
know.” 

James had not known and he smiled at the 
knowledge. “I think myself he’s likely at home 
by this time. Someone ought to run up and see,” 
he said. 

“Perhaps Fd better go. It won’t take long. 
Which house is it?” 

“It’s the little cottage at the other end of the 
park, the one just behind the clump of willows.” 


106 


Beginning the Search. 


‘‘Well, ril not be gone long,’' said Keith as he 
started out, walking swiftly. 

In the meantime Faith found her watching and 
waiting growing unendurable. She walked back 
and forth over the path which led to the willows. 
For the tenth time she passed through the open- 
ing and stood peering into the darkness of the 
woods, while the moonlight, shadow creatures 
darted back and forth along the path behind her. 

Suddenly, her heart beat with gladness, she 
caught the sound of footsteps and quickly rushed 
forward, crying, “Robert, Robert, mamma’s been 
so worried about you.” 

Keith stopped short — that voice — he would 
know it anywhere. Only for an instant did he 
pause, then he knew he must be brave. He must 
not cry out, he must not touch her. She was the 
wife of another, and held that other very dear. 
With a great effort he mastered himself suffi- 
ciently to speak in unnatural, unrecognized tones. 
“I have come to ask if your child has yet re- 
turned ?” 

“Returned? Returned?” Faith repeated the 
question in a faint tone, while her hand went to 
her heart as though she would stop its wild beat- 
ings. “No, indeed, he has not returned, and 
you — you have come — to tell me that — he is in- 
jured — or perhaps — dead — .” The woman threw 


107 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


out her hands and fell toward him. Keith sprang 
forward and caught her in his arms. 

Through the opening in the willows and up 
the little path he carried her. Into the cottage 
he passed and laid her tenderly upon the couch. 
Now he could see her face plainly. Her lids were 
closed over the brown eyes, and the lips were 
slightly parted, showing the even, white teeth. 
He noted with a keen pang, the thinness of her 
cheek. On her right hand she was wearing 
the engagement ring he gave her. He looked at 
the left — there was no ring there. 

How tired she looked, but young and utterly 
lovely as she lay there. All the man in Keith 
arose in hot protest, and tears blinded his eyes 
for a moment, shutting out the beauty of her face 
and form. “You are mine,’’ he whispered, “you 
are mine by right — heart of my heart — and soul 
of my soul.” 

He had not touched her after laying her down — 
he did not mean to touch her now — but only to 
look at her — and perhaps wait until she should 
speak. As he watched her his lips quivered with 
unshed tears, and the soul within him was torn 
asunder, “Faith, my dream girl,” he murmured, 
and with a smothered groan he threw himself 
forward burying his face in the folds of her 
flimsy gown. 


108 


Beginning the Search. 


The woman opened her eyes and without a 
shadow of surprise they rested upon the bowed 
head of the man. “Don’t weep like that, my 
dear one,” she whispered as she gently stroked 
his hair, “don’t weep any more, dear, for I have 
wept enough for both, and Keith, I’ve been wait- 
ing so long for you.” 

“Poor, little one, my poor, little dream girl. I 
did not know — had I known you were waiting 
here I would have come. I have been waiting 
for you up there in your garden; did you not 
know I would be waiting there, elfin girl ?” 

“I knew, Keith dear, but I feared to come.” 

Through the open window came the love chant 
of a nightingale. The man drew his mate closely 
and their lips met. For a time the woman forgot 
her boy. She only knew that the joy of love was 
in her soul. Then, she remembered, and explana- 
tions were made. When the man learned of his 
boy — of his little son, he lifted his eyes reverently 
toward the abiding place of the Giver, and softly 
murmured,” O God, my God, I thank Thee.” 

Soon the man and the women went forth to 
gether, seeking that which they had lost, and for 
a time they were content. 


109 


CHAPTER XIV. 


GREAT ANXIETY. 

For a time the man and the woman were indeed 
happy and content. Soon Robert would be found. 
James had already called forth a searching party, 
and in a very short time every foot of the tim- 
bered park would have been thoroughly explored. 

Keith could scarcely wait, so anxious was he to 
see his child. He longed to clasp the little fellow 
in his arms — and to hear the one word — papa. 
Faith was so happy in the thought that she could 
bring to Keith this wonderful offering of atone- 
ment she almost forgot to feel worried. 

Through the wooded land, where the wild flow- 
ers bloomed, they walked arm in arm. An owl, 
being disturbed by these night prowlers, gave a 
loud, angry screech. Faith was startled. She 
grabbed Keith by the arm, and then laughed at 
her own timidity. 

“It seems almost too good to be true,^^ she whiS'. 
pered clinging to him. 

“What, the owl ?” asked Keith, putting his arm 
around her.’* 

“No — not the owl. I mean having you with 
me. 

“Indeed it does, dear,'' and then they came to 


110 


Gri^at Anxiety. 


the spot where Keith had first seen Robert. “Here, 
dearest,” said he, “here, is the spot where I first 
saw my son. I feel almost like kissing the 
ground just where he sat.” 

“Did you think you would find him here now ? 
asked Faith, beginning to feel worried. 

“I thought he might be here. Let us look 
behind that big tree. He may have fallen asleep 
over there.” 

They walked around the big tree, and Keith 
held the lantern high that they might see the 
place more clearly. 

“Don’t you feel worried, Keith?” Faith asked 
in troubled tones. 

“Not very,” lied Keith. 

“Oh, Fm so glad. If I thought you felt wor- 
ried, I don’t know what I would do. I feel all 
weak like.” 

“I think I had better take you up to the house, 
dear. Rebecca is there. She will look after you 
until we find our boy. I think we will find him 
soon.” 

So, once again the man and the woman walked, 
up the path leading HOME. Up the steps they 
walked, then, the woman paused: “Keith,” she 
said, “I am almost ashamed to enter here, and she 
hid her face on his shoulder and wept.” 

“Don’t cry, darling,” he whispered tenderly. 


111 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“you are now, as you always have been, my own, 
little brown-eyed dream-girl.” 

Entering the old, familiar room, where the table 
upon which she had left the note, stood all gray 
with dust, Faith sank tremblingly into the little 
chair by the window. She asked no questions. 
The condition of the articles in the room told her 
that not one had been touched since that day, five 
years ago. On the floor, beside the chair, lay her 
embroidery work, just as she had left it. 

How different was the love of this man from 
the love of him who had promised much but had 
given little. How good it seemed to have Keith 
so near. 

The house of the Barringtons^ sat on a hill and 
from the window, near which Faith sat, one could 
look upon the timbered park. All through the 
hours of the night she watched the lanterns flick- 
ering through the trees like fire flies playing in the 
darkness. Every hour, and half hour she heard 
the big clock in the hall chime in loud tones 
the exact time. Every now and then the woman 
closed her eyes, and so quietly did she lay that 
one might have taken her to be asleep. But she 
was not asleep ; the ghostly finger of a dream of 
fear clutched her heart, and seemed to chill it. 

As the gray light of dawn came creeping in at 
the window, and a rotjn just outside began twit- 


112 


Gre^at Anxiety. 


tering as is the custom of his kind at the breaking 
of a new day, Faith stirred in her chair and turned 
her head. Her eyes fell upon the portrait ot 
Keith’s mother. Long ago had the saintly womau 
been laid to rest beside her fathers. Long had it 
been since the arms of the kindly mother had 
encircled the form of her son. Long had it been 
since the feet of the son had come clattering up 
the stair, to stop beside the very chair in which 
she now sat, to receive a kiss of motherly love and 
greeting. Long had it been since the little soti 
had knelt there at his mother’s feet, to lisp his 
evening prayer. 

Tears blinded Faith’s eyes until she could no 
longer see the* picture. With the cry that comes 
from a wounded, bleeding heart she rose and went 
to the painting; for some minutes she stood look- 
ing into the sweet, saintly face ; then she reached 
out both hands and clasped the frame which held 
the likeness of Keith’s beloved, devout mother. 
“Dear mother,” she murmured through her tears, 
“how badly I have treated your boy. You would 
have wished that he should always have been 
happy, just as I wish our Robbie to be, but he 
hasn’t — been — happy. He has been wretched and 
miserable — all because — I — have been — so bad — 
to him.” 

Up the stairs came the tread of tired, weary 
113 


The Garden oe Faith. 


feet. The very walk told Faith that Keith's heart 
was anything but light. Worn and sad of face 
Keith entered the room. His look was ashen 
in its paleness, and he did not speak. Faith, look- 
ing at him, understood, and her heart was filled 
with woe. How much her faithlessness had cost 
this man. 

It was a broken-hearted woman who a few 
minutes later listened to the minister who once 
more pronounced her the wife of the sad-faced 
man. And when they were started on their way 
to the hills in the distance, in Keith's new touring 
car, with the crippled Jim sitting in the rear seat 
Faith listened to Keith's story of how he had seen 
LaVelle in the automobile, near the park, the day 
before. Both knew that their little boy was in the 
hands of one who hated him with an intense 
hatred. 


114 


CHAPTER XV. 


UNCLE JOHNNY GIVES INFORMATION. 

When the big car containing our friends was 
well started Keith began trying to comfort Faith 
by assuring her that Robert was safe. He said 
he felt sure they would have him with them 
by night; at the same time, his speeding the car 
to the full limit seemed to contradict his own 
words. 

Over the road which they had traveled so hap- 
pily five years ago, they now rode in hot haste. 
Farmers, sitting down to their morning meals, 
were startled by the quick, sharp tooting of the 
horn, and when they came to answer Keith’s hur- 
ried questions, immediately preparing to ask some 
in return, it was only to find they could not, for 
the big car was ever on the move. In answer 
to Keith’s interrogation as to whether or not they 
remembered the big touring car of yesterday, the 
one containing the black-bearded man, many re- 
plied in the affirmative, while a few stated they 
had seen nothing of it. 

As mile after mile of the distance lying be- 
tween them and Robert was passed, it was given 
the woman to know, that true sympathy is pos- 
sible only when the love of one soul harmonizes 


116 


The Garden oe Faith. 


with that of another. Faith’s heart was lifted as 
though by little, imprisoned wings, for beside her 
sat the man who had brought her into full har- 
mony with himself. He had brought her into this 
perfect adaption by teaching her how to live. He 
had taught her to know, that, joy cannot and does 
not comes to man through the glamour of man- 
made things, but rather through the sweet, true, 
silent things of God. 

When the car drove up and stopped in front 
of the cooper shop at the Point, Uncle Johnny’s 
clear, strong voice came floating out to greet them. 

“How firm a foundation, ye saints o’ the Lord ; 

Is laid fur yer faith in his excellent word. 

What more can he say than to you he hath said. 
To you, who for refuge to Jesus have fled.’ 

Keith gave the horn a quick, sharp toot, where- 
upon the singing stopped and Uncle Johnny ap- 
peared in the doorway. He pushed back his old, 
slouch hat, which was dusty and dirty with age, 
and scratched his head : “Howdy,” he called in a 
loud voice. 

“How do you do. Uncle Johnny, come and 
shake hands with Mrs. Barrington and our little 
friend,” called Keith. 

Uncle Johnny made his way to the car, wiping 
his hands on his trouser legs as he walked along. 


116 


Uncle Johnny Gives Ineormation. 

‘‘Good mornin’, Miss Barrington ; nice mornin’ ?” 
he said as he reached his rough, horny hand up to 
clasp the dainty, white one of the woman. 

“Good morning. Uncle Johnny,’’ replied Faith 
holding out her hand, “you must excuse my man- 
ner of addressing you, but Mr. Barrington seems 
to have forgotten to tell me your full name.” 

“I gaddy, I cal’late it don’t matter what my 
name is. I’d jist as leave ye’d call me Uncle 
Johnny. It ain’t likely I’d be knowin’ who ye 
meant if ye called me anythin’ else.” 

“Uncle Johnny,” said Keith, “we are in a great 
hurry this morning. We are looking for our little 
boy. We have traced him to these hills here. He 
was stolen yesterday by a man wearing a black 
beard. The man came up to these hills in a big 
touring car. Have you seen anything of it ?” 

“I gaddy, I reckon I have. It went by here last 
evenin’ at a two-forty gate, but I didn’t see no boy 
in it. 

“Which way did it go?” 

“It went up on top o’ Honey Hill, I reckon. 
Brody said as how he seed it up thar last week 
a standin’ in front o’ that old empty house up thar. 
I cal’late they’s sunthin’ pretty queer about that 
feller what rides aroun’ in that car. He’s bin 
seed up here a lot o’ times an’ they don’t nobidy 
seem to know what he’s a doin’.” 


117 


The Garden oe Faith. 


‘Well, we must be following that car,” said 
Keith. “If you should see a group of horsemen 
go by I wish you would direct them to our place 
up on the Ridge.” 

“Fll be glad to do it fur ye, but how old a feller 
might your leetle boy be?” 

“Four years old,” answered Keith starting the 
car. 

After the car had passed from view. Uncle 
Johnny went back into the shop and, picking up a 
plane, he smoothed the surface of a board with 
great energy. “Now, I gaddy,” murmured he, “I 
cal’late they’s them as would want to know what 
he's bin a doin’ a stayin’ up here in these hills all 
the time when he’s got a woman an’ a leetle boy 
down thar to the city, but it ain’t none o’ their bus- 
iness, an’ it ain’t none o’ mine an’ I ain’t aimin’ to 
make it any.” 

All day long Uncle Johnny worked and sang, 
and when the shades of evening began to gather 
he went suickly into a little, rear room and at- 
tired himself in his Sunday suit. One-half hour 
later he entered the front yard of the “Widder” 
Brody, and found her sitting upon the front stoop. 

“Good evenin’ to you. Miss Brody,” he said 

“Good evenin’ to you Uncle Johnny,” answered 
she. 

“I gaddy, it’s a fine evenin’, I reckon.” 


118 


Uncle Johnny Gives In formation. 

‘'A fine evenin’ it is,” said Mrs. Brody. 

“An’ how be ye a gettin’ along sich fine evenin’s, 
Miss Brody?” 

“As well as could be expected, an’ how are 
you ?” 

“I gaddy, I cal’late I could be gettin’ on better. 
I git a leetle mite lonesome. Matter o’ course 
some fellers don’t mind livin’ alone, but me — 
well, I reckon it’s hard on me, both mind an’ bidy. 

“Then why don’t ye marry?” 

“I gaddy, that’s easier said nor done. Miss 
Brody — that’s easier said nor done.” 

“And have you tried?” 

“I reckon I can’t say as how I have, but you. 
Miss Brody, don’t ye find it a leetle mite lone- 
some a livin’ here all alone?” 

“ ’Taint quite so bad fur me. Uncle Johnny, 
as ’tis fer you. ’Taint so hard fur a woman to 
live alone as ’tis fur a man. Now, jist ’tother day 
I was a sayin’ to your niece, Annie, I sez, sez I, 
thar’s yer Uncle Johnny, a better man never 
lived, an’ he’s a livin’ in the back o’ that leetle 
shop all alone. He ortn’t to do it. He ort to git 
married. He ort to have a woman to look arter 
him, an’ ter git warm meals fur him regular. An’ 
if ye’ll excuse my saying it. Uncle Johnny, I sez 
to her, sez I, I don’t know of any bidy that would 
like to do this fur him better than me.” 


119 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“I gaddy, Fm glad to hear ye say so, fur I 
cal’late I do need some bidy ter look arter my 
meals an’ my buttons. But that ain’t all, Miss 
Brody, that ain’t all, but I ort ter have ye ’cause 
I got a longin’ fur ye. Now, right here on my 
left side, under my suspender, an’ a leetle mite 
above my spleen, I got a feelin’ what say ye air 
the woman I ort to have. While I was a workin’ 
in my shop today, I was took all o’ a suddint with 
a pinin’ in my in’ards, an’ a bidy what didn’t know 
as how ’twas love might think they was a layin’ 
fur a sick spell, but I gaddy, I knowed ’twas 
love. I knowed ’twant that at all, but ’twas my 
lonely heart a answerin’ the call o’ another lonely 
heart, an’ when it got clean dark like, arter I got 
rigged up, I set out to see if I could ketch ye to 
home.” 

“And’ ye ketched me, I reckon.” 

“I gaddy, ketch ye, I did. An’ is it a hitch I 
ax ye?” 

“A puttin’ on o’ the double harness, I cal’late.” 

“Then ye consider Fve axed ye.” 

“And axed me ye have.” 

“Then good-night to you, 'Widder’ Brody.” 

“An’ good-night to you, Uncle Johnny.” 

One-half hour later as Uncle Johnny struggled 
to remove the new, red scar from about his neck, 
he mumbled: “Now, I gaddy, I cal’late as they’s 


120 


Uncle Johnny Gives Ineormation. 


them as would say as how a feller o’ my age 
ortn’t to git married, but I reckon this is sunthin* 
else that ain’t none o’ their business.” 


121 


CHAPTER XVI. 


AN ABRUPT DEPARTURE. 

Just as the automobile in which Keith, Faith 
and Jim were riding drew up and stopped in 
front of the cooper shop at the Point little Robert 
stretched himself upon the dirty bed in the little 
back room of the ramshackle, log house, and 
opened his eyes. 

He was not frightened when he awakened, 
and found himself in that strange, wretched place, 
Far from it. He was not, by nature nor by train 
ing, a coward. Born of many generations of 
heroes he inherited no craven fears. 

Robert had been awakened by a low, gentle 
tapping, and as he opened his eyes they wan- 
dered in the direction from whence the sound 
came. A wild bird had darted through the 
screen of oaken boughs, and had perched himself 
for a swing upon a limb just outside the window. 
After singing his wildest woodland melody he 
began pecking at the dirty spots upon the win- 
dow pane. 

Robert watched the little bird for a time, then 
his eyes wandered about the room, to fall at last 
upon something at his side — a something that 
had moved. ‘Why Laddie,” he cried in sur- 


122 


An Abrupt Departure). 


prised delight, ‘‘you blessedest /doggie, where 
are we?” 

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the 
events of yesterday came back to him. “Oh, 
I know,” he cried, “we’re in the old ogre’s house. 
He caught us by the nape o' the neck, and bringed 
us away off to his house. But we won’t stay 
here. Laddie. I never wanted to stay at a ogre’s 
house in all my life long days.” 

Robert forthwith rolled out of bed, and carry- 
ing Laddie in his arms, he went to the door and 
turned the knob. The door refused to open, 
whereupon Robert set up an obstrepeous yell. 

In the outer room, at a square table, covered 
by a red cloth, LaVelle and his companion sat 
eating their late morning meal. Nancy Rooter 
had just placed a plate of crisp, brown biscuits 
upon the table, and was breaking fresh eggs into 
a frying pan, from which she had removed lean 
streaked slices of bacon, when Robert set up his 
scream. Nancy dropped an egg and hurried to- 
ward the door, in consequence of which LaVelle 
said in gruff tones, “Just let that kid yell until 
he gets tired.” 

Stopping in front of the door, Nancy turned, 
“Air ye a cal’latin’ fur me to look arter this 
kid fur a spell?” she asked, standing with her 
hands on her hips and body bent in bow shape. 


123 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“Sure, I am, but you don’t need to think you 
have to act as his special servant. Just give him 
a drink of water and a crust of bread now and 
then, that’s all I’ll ask of you.” 

“Wall, my name’s Nancy Rooter, and I corned 
o’ good, hones’ folks. If I’m goin’ to take keer 
o’ this kid, I reckon I’ll take keer o’ him as best 
suits me, so you kin jist go ’long and eat yer 
snack, and don’t in’erfere wi’ me,” said Nancy, 
unlocking the door. 

The door opened slowly and a frowzy, brown- 
head appeared. Then two big, brown eyes passed 
from Nancy’s feet to her head, and Robert ques- 
tioned, “Are you the ogress?” 

“Be I the what?” 

“Are you the old woman what cooks little boys 
for the ogre?” 

“Wall, I ain’t knowin’ what a ogre is, but I 
ain’t no woman what cooks little boys ; I’d likelier 
cook big, bad ones. Not that they’d be better 
eatin’ fur the Lord knows they’d be tough 
enough.” 

“Well, Laddie and me, we thinked we was at 
the ogre’s house,” said Robert as his eyes wan- 
dered about the room and noted the pan of bis- 
cuits sitting on the back of the stove. Looking at 
them he continued, “I don’t know if you can 


124 


An Abrupt Departure:. 


make as good biscuits as my mamma can or not. 
She can make awful good ones.’’ 

“Wall, you pore little feller, air ye hungry?” 

“Oh, my, yes. Laddie and me, we are awful 
hungry, but we won’t ask for anyfing to eat, 
’cause my mamma she wouldn’t like it. But o’ 
course if anybody ever asks us to take tea with 
’em, she don’t care.” 

“Wall, you jist come an’ git your purty, little 
face washed,” said Nancy, leading Robert to a 
box in a corner, upon which stood a tin wash 
basin. As she dried his face with a rough towel 
Robert remarked, “You ain’t pretty like my 
mamma, are you? But I wish you’d open your 
mouf so I can see inside o’ you.” 

Nancy opened her mouth as Robert bade her 
do, and Robert looked at the snags of teeth 
with a wrinkled brow. “My mamma said that a 
lot o’ times people what wasn’t pretty on the 
outside was pretty on the inside. She said it 
was nicer to be pretty on the inside, but I guess 
God forgot to make you pretty any — ” A loud 
sneeze cut Robert’s sentence short. 

Robert jumped and turned around. For the 
first time, he noticed LaVelle and his companion, 
due to the fact that Nancy had been standing 
between them. His eyes filled with doubt and 
fear. He drew back from the woman. “Oh, 


125 


The Garden oe Faith. 


you’re the ogress for sure. I finked you was a 
funny woman. There is your old, black ogre 
what stealed Laddie and me,” and the boy picked 
up the puppy and held him tightly in his arms. 

“No, I ain’t no ogress, an’ ye don’t need to be 
afeared o’ me.” 

“Well, he’s the ogre,” said Robert, pointing 
his finger at LaVelle. Then he asked, “What 
made you catch me and bring me to your house 
for, old ogre? Don’t you know my mamma will 
be awful mad at you if you cook me and Laddie ?” 

LaVelle’s face grew red with anger. He arose 
from the table, crossed the room and took Robert 
by the collar. Pulling the lad to the table he 
pushed the dishes back and lifted him up. “Now, 
you dance, you little imp of Satan,” he com- 
manded in angry tones. 

“I ain’t a going to dance. I never had to 
dance in all my life long days,” wailed Robert. 

“Here’s where you will have to dance, kid. 
Here’s where you will have to do a great many 
things. Now, you cut her loose, or I will let you 
feel how this nice hickory stick feels about your 
pipe stems.” 

“I ain’t got no pipe stems. I ain’t never goin’ 
to smoke, my mama — ■” 

W-h-z-z, came the cut of the whip and little 
Robert cried out with pain. 


126 


An Abrupt Departure. 


“Now, you hand me that pup, and hoe her 
down, or I’ll try it again,” said LaVelle, reaching 
for the dog. 

“I ain’t going to let you have Laddie. You 
are a bad man, and you would hurt him. I ’ist 
won’t let you hurt Laddie like you do me,” cried 
Robert through his tears. 

LaVelle jerked the dog from the boy’s arms 
and, raising him high above his head, he swung 
him against the door. There was a dull, sicken- 
ing thud, a yelp of pain, and Laddie lay upon 
the floor, the life blood oozing from his mouth. 

For a second Robert stood looking on in horror, 
then he sprang to the floor and lifted the lifeless 
form in his arms. Looking up into the old 
woman’s face he asked, “Is my Laddie dead?” 

“I reckon he is, honey,” said the old lady, in 
tender tones. 

“Oh, my blessedest Laddie,” cried Robert, hug- 
ging the dog to his breast. LaValle laughed. 

In an instant Robert dropped the puppy and 
sprang at LaVelle. All the anger and fight in 
him had been aroused. Before the latter could 
discover his intention he had buried his little, 
white teeth in his hand. 

With a cry of pain LaVelle lifted the boy in 
like manner as he had the puppy. Swinging him 
backward he brought him forward against the 


The Garden oe Faith. 


door. There was another dull, sickening thud, 
but this time there was no yelp of agony. 

All in the room grew very still. The man 
at the table arose and, taking his hat from a nail, 
he left the room. LaValle touched the limp, lit- 
tle figure with his foot, then he, too, reached for 
his hat. 

After LaVelle had gone, Nancy stood looking 
at the little form upon the floor. She heard 
the big car leave, but she did not move. 

‘Tf Td a knowed there was a goin’ to be a 
goin’s on like this I allow I wouldn’t a come 
here,” said Nancy, as she looked about the room. 
Then, Nancy Rooter, hardened by sin and by 
vice, fell on her knees beside the boy. 

“God, I reckon I ain’t got no call to be a 
cornin’ to you, and I cal’late ye won’t be a listenin’ 
to nary a prayer from sich as me; but I ax ye 
Lord, right here aside this pore, little feller, what 
never knowed no meanness — I ax ye to take me 
an’ make me all over agin. If ye had a gin me 
a boy like this, Lord, I know I’d ha’ bin a good 
woman. I reckon I’d a bin purty on the inside jist 
like the little feller said his maw said folks ort to 
be. I reckon if ye had gin me a little boy like 
this. I’d bin a lookin’ arter him ’stead o’ doin’ 
dirty work fur sich as him as kilt the pore, little 
thing. Now, I’m a goin’ Lord, ’afore some one 


128 


An Abrupt De^parture. 


comes an’ finds me here, an’ says I kilt the little 
darlin’, an’ God I’m a axin’ ye to go with me, 
an’ to make me purty on the-inside.” 

Nancy did not end her prayer with the cus- 
tomary, so be it, for she was not of the kind who 
can easily say a prayer; but Nancy had a heart to 
purify and a soul to save, and I doubt not that 
Nancy will be made a bright and shining star in 
the blessed Master’s kingdom. 

As Nancy arose from her prayerful position, 
a face, which had been peering in at the window, 
disappeared. 


129 


CHAPTER XVII. 


GRANDMOTHER’S GEORGE HAS A BAD 
SPELL. 

Just as Faith and Keith were again taking the 
vows, and just as the first blush of day tinted the 
eastern sky, and the morning light touched the 
top of the big log house of the Fee’s, George 
slipped out of the back door into the glorious 
light of a new day. With eyes fixed on the 
beautifully colored sky-line he mumbled, 'They’s 
so many kinds o’ colors that I don’t know who T 
be; sometimes I’m pink an’ sometimes I’m blue, 
an’ sometimes I’m a snake what crawls an bites.” 

With eyes fixed on the many tinted hues of 
the morning light, he directed his footsteps east- 
ward. “Grannie’s sure dead,” he continued, “she 
sure is, an’ I reckon I’m going to join my brothers 
an’ sisters what’s a shinin’ so. I reckon I’ll be a 
pink brother like them what’s way up to the top. 
I reckon I don’t want to be a red brother like 
that big brother what’s down to the bottom. He 
sure is a burnin’ an’ a sizzlin’. They don’t seem 
to be no blue brothers there, but they’s a yaller 
one, they’s a yaller one what looks jist like God’s 
gold. I’m glad I’m a pink one, ’cause I’ll fly 
clean over the top o’ the rest,” and George lifted 

130 


Grandmother's George has a Bad Spele. 

his arms, flopping them up and down in an effort 
to fly. 

When the sun was one hour high, George was 
three miles from home, lying on the green grass 
in the shade of an old oak tree, in an unconscious 
condition. He had spent his last bit of strength 
in his efforts to fly and join his color brothers in 
God’s good, clear sky. 

A squirrel, having sat on a bough for some 
time, watching the still form, grew bold and ran 
down the trunk for an investigation. A cow 
came through the thicket, stopped, and looked 
with big, round eyes. The boy turned over, 
whereupon the little squirrel scampered up the 
tree and the cow moved on about her business. 

At first the boy was dazed, and he lay quite 
still. Then, as his mind cleared, he sat up and 
wiped the blood from his hands and face, for 
the wild brushes and brambles had not been kind 
to him during his imagined flight through the air. 

'T cal’late them fellers what called me a fool 
onct was a tellin’ the truth,” said the boy with a 
sob in his throat. 'T reckon I don’t know nothin’. 
I jist reckon I don’t know enough to poun’ san’ in 
a rat hole.” 

The next quarter of an hour George spent in 
wandering over the hills, through the dense 
woods. He was so weak from his exertions, and 


131 


Thk Garden oe Faith. 


the lack of his morning meal, that at last he was 
compelled to rest. As he sat upon a fallen log, 
a little grass snake glided through the grass at 
his feet and disappeared in the bushes. 

When he arose to resume his journey it was 
with the knowledge that he was lost. Any one 
who has experienced a similar condition and has 
also known what it means to be lost on the open 
plains, knows that the former state is more per- 
plexing than the latter, in as much as that one in 
a wooded land frequently wanders round and 
round in a circle, having not even the sun for a 
guiding object. 

Soon George came to a steep hill and began 
climbing upward. When he reached the top he 
was surprised to find an old log house. The 
clearing about the place being only adequate for 
the building of the dwelling, and in the years of 
neglect and decay, many trees had sprouted so 
closely to the building that they seemed to be a 
part of it. George stopped for a moment to draw 
a full breath and to allow his fast-beating heart 
to regain its normal action. Then he walked 
up to a window and peeped in through the glass. 

The sight that met his eye turned his face 
pale and caused him to cling to the rotted win- 
dow casings for support, while a sob filled his 
throat. For some moments he stood looking 


132 


Grandmother's George has a Bad Spelt. 


with bulging eyes, then he quickly dropped to 
the ground amidst the weeds. 

A man came from out the house and cranked 
an automobile. He was followed by another who 
climbed directly into the big car. Like a fright- 
ened bird the youth lay upon the grass, scarcely 
breathing. He did not move until the machine 
had disappeared in the thick timber at the end of 
a grass grown road. 

When he silently regained his feet he stood 
looking in at the window for some minutes. 
When he again fell to the grass in a hiding atti- 
tude a woman appeared in the doorway. For a 
moment she stood there wiping the tears from her 
eyes, then George heard her murmur, ‘I reckon 
Fd better foller the road.'’ 

After a little time, when George felt the woman 
would not return, he slipped silently to the door 
and entered the house. Inside he found little 
Robert lying upon the floor in a pool of blood 
while the form of Laddie lay close by in its man- 
gled condition. 


133 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A STRANGE PLUNGE. 

When LaVelle swung little Robert against the 
door it seemed to the child that he could hear the 
trampings of thousands of little feet, and the 
roarings of many waters before that awful mo- 
ment of agony came. 

In a twinkling the darkness of night came over 
him and it did not go. Mama did not come to 
turn on the light and all the shadow things came 
out to play. Sometimes they crept swiftly up 
to him, then again they would slowly ebb away 
and he would follow after them. Often the 
strange, little things would rock him in a cradle 
or swing him to and fro in a great big swing. 

Suddenly, hundreds of naked, dwarffish people 
rushed upon him and he was thrown from a great 
hill-top, only to land at the bottom with thousands 
of little ant-like creatures crawling over him. 
Then the ant-like creatures turned to just so many 
little demons, half grown things with shocks of 
hair and big, round eyes. 

These strange creatures talked in high-pitched 
voices and gesticulated wildly. One of them sat 
down upon his stomach and, try as he would, he 
could not get up. The rest procured a big red 


134 


A Strange Plunge. 


ball and held it directly over him, letting it creep 
down upon him slowly. He put out his hands 
to ward it off, then the ball turned to fire. 

A splash of cold water came and the fire turned 
to a purple ; another splash, and the purple turned 
to blue. After that the blue turned to a violet and 
the violet changed to a green. Soon a gray mist 
covered all things and Robert opened his eyes. 

A stranger was pouring water over him and 
he strangled. The stranger stopped and asked in 
kindly tones, “Do ye reckon ye are a feelin’ all 
right now?” and then he began wiping his face 
with a coarse, rough towel. 

“Did the old ogre cut me?” questioned Robert 
in a faint voice. 

“I cal’late it want no sich a thing as that, but 
jist that bad man. Be ye a wantin’ a drink er 
sumthin’ ?” 

“My, yes. Fd like to have a drink,” and the 
lad tried to lift himself to a sitting posture. 

“Be ye a wantin’ up?” asked the stranger. 

“Yes, I am, and you are not nice or you would 
not hold me down. My mama she said it wasn’t 
nice for big boys to hold little boys down. She 
hst won’t let me hold Vincent Bliss down, ’cause 
he’s littler than me.” 

“I reckon I ain’t holdin’ on ye down. I cal’-late 
ye air hurt an’ can’t get up alone.” 


135 


The Garden oe Faith. 


''Well, my mamma, when she comes, she’ll kiss 
my hurt place and it will get well.” 

"I reckon she will alright. If Grannie was 
here she’d kiss it and I cal’late ye’d git well. 
But Grannie’s dead. She’s asleep.” 

"Oh, have you got a grandma with a black 
cap and a lot o’ white hairs a stickin’ out around 
it, and has she got little rivers runnin' all over 
her face? Floyd Dunbar’s got a grandma like 
that. I ain’t got no grandma. I ’ist aint got no 
grandma or any fing.” 

"My grannie’s dead,” spoke the strange lad 
in wistful tones. 

"I finked you said she was asleep?” 

"I cal’late she’s asleep. A bein’ dead and a 
bein’ asleep is the same thing.” 

"Oh, no it ain’t. You can wake people up 
when they’s asleep, but you ’ist can’t wake dead 
people up. You can stick pins in ’em if you 
want to an’ they won’t never wake up. Dead peo- 
ple’s have all gone away off up to heaven.” 

"I reckon you don’t know about dead people. 
Mr. Barrington, he told me all about grannie. 
She’s dead; she ain’t gone to heaven, and she’s 
jist asleep.” 

"There ain’t no Mr. Barrington but ’ist me, and 
I ain’t Mr. Barrington. I’m ’ist Robert, and I’m 
awful firsty.” 


136 


A Strange Plunge. 


^‘Wall, I reckon I kin tote ye over to the 
table,” and George lifted Robert in his arms and 
carried him across the room. Sitting down upon 
an old chair, he held the boy gently in his arms 
while he poured milk into a cup from a broken 
pitcher. Holding the cup up for the child to 
drink he asked, “Be it good?” 

“Not very,” replied Robert as he swallowed 
feverishly. 

“Be ye a wantin’ sunthin’ else?” George asked. 
“No.” 

“Then I cal’late Pd better eat a bite,” said 
George, as he made the remains of the disturbed 
breakfast disappear. 

After he had satisfied his appetite and Robert 
had been given a drink of cold water from a 
little spring behind the house, he lifted the child 
in his arms and carried him outside. Here he 
stood Robert upon his feet for he hoped the child 
might walk. The boy tried hard to stand, but he 
could not, so George lifted him and carried him 
down the rough road. 

Late in the afternoon they came to the old 
mill, beside which stood the old hut occupied by 
Old Man Crosby. Being tired and thirty George 
thought to secure a drink for himself and his 
little companion. Holding the child closely in 
his arms he walked to the edge of the mill pond 


137 


The Garden oe Faith. 


and stood for a moment wondering how to obtain 
the water for himself and the boy. Then it was 
that the ground beneath his feet gave way, and 
he, holding Robert firmly in his arms, was hurled 
head first into the pool. 

To the bottom they sank. The water was very 
clear, and just ahead of him George could see 
a dark object. Two strokes brought him to it. 
It was an opening and George swam through, 
using his one free arm and both his feet in the 
effort. When he arose to the surface it was to 
find himself inside a large cave. Making his 
way to the water’s edge he laid Robert upon the 
ground and began the work of restoring him. 

As soon as the child opened his eyes and looked 
around George lifted him and carried him up an 
incline. Here he found a door, which, when he 
opened it led to a stairway. He climbed the 
stairway and found himself inside a brilliantly 
lighted room. Two men were working at a table. 

Had George been wise he would have left the 
place as silently as he had come, but . George was 
not wise so he walked up to the men. One of the 
men heard him and turned about. 

^‘What the devil?” he ejaculated and then gave 
a whistle of surprise, which caused his companion 
to turn around. 

For a moment the two men started at the twain, 

138 


A Strange Plunge. 


then one of them spoke. “How did you get 
here ?” 

“I reckon I jist fell into the mill pond,” 
answered George. 

“Well, who told you to fall in there?” 

“I jist reckon nobidy tole me to. I jist reckon 
Grannie furgot to tell me about this 'ere place.” 

“I reckon she forgot it all right.” 

“Yes, sir, she plum furgot to tell me about it.” 

“Well, it was a sad forget for you, my son.” 

“But a lucky one for me,” laughed the com- 
panion, who chanced to be no other than LaVelle, 
though the boys did not know this for LaVelle 
was not now wearing the big, black beard. 

While this was taking place in the underground 
cave, the breezes on the outside were increasing 
to a gale, and when night crept near, vivid flashes 
of lightning streamed across the inky sky, ac- 
companied by long, deep rumblings. 

Just as the storm burst forth in all its fury, 
LaVelle and his companion hurried George and 
Robert into the big car which had been carefully 
concealed among the heavy hazel bushes and 
started down the rough, winding road leading 
from the mill. 

In the midst of the roaring hurricane, by the 
light of firey flashes (for LaVelle knew it would 
not be wise to travel with lights burning, and in 


139 


The Garden of Faith. 


his heart was thankful for this timely storm), the 
car decended the hill at a terrific speed, trembling 
in every part, and thus it disappeared in the 
blackness of the night, amid the roar of the 
tempest. 


no 


CHAPTER XIX. 


FIFTEEN YEARS LATER. 

‘T hate this sort of a job,” Robert Barrington 
had exclaimed to his companion and faithful 
friend, George, one day as he carefully collected 
the sap from a Coquito palm in Chile, South 
America. 'T suppose this is a good tree and will 
yield as much as ninety gallons of sap, but I hate 
the miel de palma even if the Chileans do esteem 
it great. I’m going to have a look for the ‘Heart 
of the Inca’s,’ and then, me for the Stars and 
Stripes.” 

George had silently listened and then began 
packing their small canvas tent and few cooking 
utensils without a word. He had long since 
learned when Robert spoke about a change of 
locations, it meant an immediate move. 

So two weeks later, while a light breeze blew 
down the inlet chasing tiny waves against the 
bows of their canoe, Robert watched the banks 
for a suitable camping place. 

Let us stop and compare this youth of nineteen 
to the four-year-old Robert of our former ac- 
quaintance. There are the same big brown eyes 
looking from beneath long, curling lashes. There 
is the same drooping to the corners of the 


141 


The Garden oe Faith. 


mouth, and the same uplifting of the pointed chin, 
while the well shaped head still wears a mass of 
curling brown hair. 

Upon these curls he now wears a wide panama 
hat which is much soiled from frequent wettings. 
An old gray shirt with sleeves rolled high above 
the elbows, and collar turned back about the 
throat, reveals the muscular symmetry of his arms 
and neck. His trousers are of a dark blue and 
are rent in several places. 

Measuring five feet, eleven inches in his bare 
feet, with broad shoulders, slim hips and clean 
cut limbs, Robert Barrington always madel a 
grand picture, and now, as he plied his paddle 
with strong, even strokes, every movement show- 
ing the workings of the muscles of his kingly 
body, with his handsome face glowing with the 
exercise, one could only long to repeat the words, 
“In the image of God created He.’’ 

For some time the canoe drifted along, and al- 
ways did the banks at the edge of the little river 
grow steeper and steeper. Suddenly Robert 
caught sight of a dark object against the back- 
ground of yellow clay. '‘Xook,” he cried, 
“George, what’s that? Let’s put toward it.” 

In a moment the boys found themselves rush- 
ing toward the object at a terrible and terrific 
speed. Putting forth their best efforts they en- 


142 


Years Later. 


deavored to stop the canoe but their efforts were 
in vain, and in a very short time they found them- 
selves entering an opening leading to the bowels 
of the mountains. 

The spot marking their place of entrance soon 
faded from view. Darkness, deep and profound, 
encompassed them. It seemed the blackness must 
surely take their breath, so great was it. 

‘‘Let's fish a candle from that box over there 
by you," spoke Robert after some little time, “it's 
so dark one can scarcely breathe, and about the 
first thing we know we’ll be shot up against a 
wall or something." 

As he spoke he caught the gleam of a light 
ahead. “Oh, look, George, see what we’re com- 
ing to. I guess we can’t reach that place too 
soon, can we?" 

Through an opening, into the light of day the 
canoe rushed, and stopped with a suddenness that 
sent Robert head-first into a pool of clear water, 
while George was thrown to the bottom of the 
boat in a breathless heap. 

Up came Robert sputtering and blowing the 
water from his mouth and nostrils. A dozen 
strokes of his long, strong arms took him to the 
bank which in itself was a regular picture of 
beauty. Tall palms reared their heads to meet 
the sky. A kiziuba tree grew close to the bank. 


143 


The Garden oe Faith. 


and Robert stood beneath it to look about in deep 
admiration. The tree in itself was a wonder. Its 
roots all sprang from a stem above the ground, 
every new root emerging from a point somewhat 
higher up on the stem than the one which pre- 
ceded it. As the old roots had decayed they had 
left a curious spectacle on four legs, wide enough 
apart to enable Robert to pass between them 
while standing erect . 

As soon as George could regain his feet he 
brought the canoe to the shore and fastened it 
securely. “It sure is a queer place, ain’t it?” he 
asked as he gazed about with astonished eyes. 

“It sure am, old pal, and I guess we might as 
well camp right here. It looks to me as though 
we are in a pen, with a circular wall of palms 
around us. How does it appear to you?” 

“I reckon it looks like we was in a pen, an’ I 
cal’late we ain’t goin’ ter find a way out very 
soon.” 

“How about a cup of coffee?” asked Robert as 
he divested himself of his wet garments and hung 
them on a clump of reeds to dry. 

Ten days later, in the dusk of early evening, 
Robert stirred by anxiety lest their departure from 
the place could not be effected, sat before the 
tent and pondered. Presently he arose and 
walked away to secure a pole for fishing. 


144 


Fifteen Years Later. 


It was a tall, straight pole he had noticed grow- 
ing among the tall, slender grasses, ferns and 
vigorous creeping vines. As he laid his hands 
upon the lancewood tree he saw something that 
held him spell-bound. Emerging from the thick 
underbrush which grew close upon the sloping 
side of the wall, appeared a head, followed a 
moment later by a massive pair of shoulders. The 
light was sufficient for him to see that it was 
an enormous head and body. 

As the being stood up, another head appeared, 
and still another and another, until a dozen big 
giants stood in line, and at a command from their 
leader moved cautiously toward the tent. Robert 
stood looking on in astonishment. What did it 
mean? From whence had these huge creatures 
come. He dropped to the ground and waited 
breathlessly. Presently he heard them return- 
ing and he waited with tense held breath for them 
to pass. 

When he hastily made his way to the tent it 
was to meet with a great shock. George was 
gone and the place had been robbed of every 
worthy article. He knew that poor half-witted 
George had been taken captive and how to rescue 
him he could not tell. About his waist was 
strapped his gun, while in his sheath hung his 
hunting knife. These were his only articles of 
defense. 


145 


The Garden oe Faith. 


For some time Robert sat in deep study. Final- 
ly he arose and exclaimed in a voice carrying de- 
termination, “I might just as well investigate at 
once ; the moon has come out clearly and perhaps 
it is the best time.” 

When he came to the place from whence he 
had seen the head emerge he found an opening and 
a carefully concealed passage. Parting the bushes 
and reeds cautiously, he entered. Moving for- 
ward he was guided by a faint glimmer of light. 
Coming to a sharp turn he looked upon a strange 
sight. 

Twelve huge, black-skinned giants, fantasti- 
cally dressed with feathers and jewels, were 
standing in a semi-circle preparing for a dance, 
while in their midst George lay bound, staring 
with bulging eyes. As Robert looked upon the 
frightened face of his companion and faithful 
friend several of the giants began amusing them- 
selves by pricking him with sharp spears. Rob- 
ert’s anger arose to white heat and he grasped his 
gun firmly in his hand, aiming it at the heart of 
the foremost tormentor. 

Just as he was in the act of firing there came a 
low, peculiar whistle which attracted his atten- 
tion. He looked and his eyes opened in the deep- 
est surprise, while his body bent eagerly forward. 
Upon a throne, beset with gold, sat a white 


146 


Fifte^en Years Later. 


maiden, clothed in the skins of some strange ani- 
mal. Her hair of coppery gold was aglow with 
precious stones. Her eyes shone and they looked 
black from the distance. A vision of lovliness 
was this maid ; strong and supple of form with a 
courageous look upon her face. 

She touched a slender, white finger to her full 
red lips in a token of silence and warning. Robert 
imitated the example with a nod of assurance 
that he understood. 

In her eyes he read a silent cry for help and 
he breathed hard as he leaned against the wall in 
his effort to keep in the shadows. Her mute ap- 
peal had touched him deeply. Her loveliness had 
thrilled his soul. 

As he waited for further developments, his 
mind was filled with curiosity. How came this 
beautiful white girl in this place, and what did 
her presence upon the throne signify? 

After a time the dancing ceased, the white 
vision was led from the throne by dark-skinned 
attendants, lights were turned low and George 
was left a bound captive. 

Robert waited until quietness reigned, then 
he glided across the space separating him from 
his companion, with the lightness of a young 
tiger. “Be not fearful, George, it is I,” he 


147 


The Garden oe Faith. 


whispered as he cut the leather cords with his 
keen edged knife. 

Silently the two friends crept across the stone 
floor and out into the rough path. Down this 
way they hastily went, and as they emerged into 
the full light of the moon a hand was laid upon 
Robert’s arm. 


148 


CHAPTER XX. 


HIS REALLY PRINCESS. 

At first no words escaped from the lips of the 
girl as she rested her hand upon Robert’s arm, 
and looked with wide, questioning eyes into his 
face. Then she spoke slowly, measuring each 
word : ‘‘Why hast thou come here ? Knewest thou 
not that none can escape from this place?” 

“Nay, fair maiden, I knew not of this place.” 

“Had you never heard of the wonderful ruby 
called ‘The heart of the Inca’s ?’ ” 

“Yes, I have frequently heard of it, and I 
meant to look for it.” 

“Well, it is here somewhere, but I greatly fear 
that you have run a great risk in coming here. 
I fear the stone is not worth the risk you have 
run.” 

“I care not for the gem, girl,” spoke Robert in 
gallant tones, feeling himself a fairy prince once 
more, speaking to his beautiful princess, “but I 
am glad I came here. No risk is too great to run 
if at the end one gets a look into such eyes as 
yours.” 

“This is no place to speak idle words,” an- 
swered the girl. 

“But they are not idle words. Believe me. 


149 


The Garden oe Faith. 


there is naught that you could ask of me that I 
would not do.^' 

The bosom of the maiden heaved, and a strange 
light came into her eyes while her nostrils were 
distended, and her small hands clenched. ''Will 
you save me ?” she asked. 

"Yea, I will save you from any and all harm.*' 

"Nay, do not speak such words; I fain would 
believe them.** 

"You may well believe them, girl, for they are 
true,’* and Robert’s hand fell to the knife at his 
side just as in those childhood days his hand had 
sought the soldier sword. 

"Then listen,’^ spoke the girl, "tomorrow they 
will marry me to the chief of the giants — to that 
big, black demon with the wart on his nose. To- 
night, I meant to plunge this,” and the girl held 
up a jeweled dagger, "into my breast. I could 
not find the courage to do it. Wilst thou do it for 
me?” 

Robert’s eyes were round with horror. "No,” 
he said firmly, "no, I could not kill you. Great 
God, girl, how could I kill you? I tell you I 
would not wish to live without you, and I — do not 
want to die.” 

The girl’s lips trembled and her breath came in 
quick gasps. "But tomorrow — tomorrow they 
will marry me to — that — giant, to that horrible, 


150 


His Really Princess. 


horrible monster/’ she whispered with a sob. 

“Indeed, they will not. I will take you away 
from here this very night. I will take you back 
to a land where there are no such places as this.’^ 

“But how can you? There is no way out.” 

“Surely there must be a way and I will find it.” 

“Oh, but father looked and looked, and he 
could find no way.’ ’ 

“Your father looked?” and Robert’s tone was 
filled with surprise. 

“Yes, for seven years he searched for an outlet, 
so you see you could scarcely find one in a night.” 

“And where is you father now?” 

“He is dead. He died a year ago.” 

“Well, how long have you been in this horri- 
ble place?” 

“Eight years.” 

“Eight years? You poor, little girlie.” All un- 
consciously Robert reached out his hand and lift- 
ed the right one of the girl’s, stroking it gently. 

“How came you to be in such a place?” he 
presently asked. 

“We came through the River of Death.” 

“Is that the passage through which my friend 
and I came?” 

“Yes.” 

While they conversed Robert led the girl to- 
ward the tent and George followed silently. 


151 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Suddenly a dark, huge figure sprang into view 
not more than twelve feet distant; there was a 
whizzing sound through the air, a leaden sub- 
stance struck violently against the back of Rob- 
ert’s head and he dropped in a heap. The at- 
tack had come so suddenly and unexpectedly that 
Robert could not even utter a cry. 

It was noon of the next day when Robert 
opened his eyes to look about in a bewildered 
manner. The fierce heat of the sun spread a 
dazzling light over the dark blue of the sky, and 
its rays fell upon him with intense and suffocating 
warmth. 

The marshy soil upon which he lay was covered 
with a thick mass of ferns, creepers and tufted 
reeds of a freshness and height which one would 
scarcely think to see in such a region. The ground 
about their roots was moist and nothing could be 
more suffocating than the atmosphere which was 
laden with a moisture like the steam from hot 
water, and impregnated with odors from the 
many plants. 

As though looking through a mist Robert could 
faintly discern at his left an ajoupa. The cir- 
cular roof was made of fig leaves and the sides 
were woven from vegetable fibres. The long, 
flexible stems of many cacti clung close to the 
walls and almost concealed them with their 


152 


His Really Princess. 


bunches of silvery white, while they emitted a 
strong smell of vanilla. 

Robert’s attitude while lying there was one of 
gracefulness. His right arm rested under his 
head which was turned to the left. His sleeve fell 
back from his arm, and his shirt uncovered his 
chest which was white and as firm and smooth 
as marble. 

Not a breath of air stirred. The silence was 
profound. Up in the heavens the sky turned 
from a blue to a green and the sun was hid by a 
red vapor. The peculiar light gave to all things 
a weird appearance. To one living in the climate, 
all these things bespoke of an approaching storm. 

Now and then there came to the dazed Robert’s 
nostrils the odor of sulphur. The very atmos- 
phere seemed to be burning. He tried to move, 
and because he could not he began to think him- 
self in a deep and horrible nightmare. Large 
drops of perspiration came out on his forehead 
and his breast heaved in its struggle for air. 

The sky grew darker and darker; the heat 
reached its highest degree of intensity and the 
torpor of Robert increased. 

Whilst Robert lay in this condition, and just 
as the rain began to descend in torrents, within 
the throne room there was a great hurrying about. 
Black and brown maidens decorated the throne 


153 


The Garden oe Faith. 


with deft fingers. Luxuriant, many colored blos- 
soms filled the place with a copious perfume. In 
one corner of the room George lay with hands 
bound behind him, staring with frightened eyes. 

After the decorations had been made, and when 
the maids were seated in a squatting position upon 
the floor about the throne, eleven giants entered 
all dressed in their feathers and jewels. They 
began chanting a weird song, and as they chanted 
the leader entered, leading, or perhaps one should 
say, carrying, a frightened, tear-stained bride. 

These few people living in this strange place 
had no regular form of ceremony. In fact, no 
man among this class of huge people was per- 
mitted to marry, save the leader. The reason for 
this was quite judicious. The spot enclosed by its 
four steep walls of rock, reaching up toward the 
sky to a depth of, or a height of, from one hun- 
dred to several hundreds of feet, was so tiny in 
dimensions that the product was not ample enough 
to feed a larger number of person than those 
already here. 

As has been before stated, these people had no 
regular form of ceremony ; it was enough that the 
king, with his bride, should take their places upon 
the throne and receive the homage of their people. 
It mattered not that the bride was now one who 
fought and screamed, and cried for help. 


154 


His Really Princess. 


No wonder she fought and screamed for the 
Reader of these black people was enough to 
frighten any person. His head was covered with 
a shock of black, matted hair, and his huge limbs 
and body were entirely naked save for a ^tri- 
colored sash which he wore about his middle. His 
legs, and likewise his arms and chest were cov- 
ered with long hair. In his ears he wore ear- 
rings of great magnitude, and through his nose 
he wore the bar which designated him as chief. 
Altogether, he was hideous. 

The homage of his people having been re- 
ceived, this savage, amorous king lifted his bride 
bodily and carried her from the room, leaving his 
subjects to dance and revel at their pleasure. Past 
George, lying there with pitiful’ though frightened 
eyes, he went, and out into the stormy evening. 

Because of the storm, and the thick, angry 
clouds, night had fallen upon them at an early 
hour, in this penned- in place, upon this day. The 
giant king stopped frequently to wait for a flash 
of light that would reveal the way. Suddenly a 
flash came which illuminated the path before him 
showing him his own ajoupa. It also revealed to 
the youth who lay there amid the tall reeds and 
vigorous vines the form of the black man and the 
frightened maiden. 

Lying there in the open during the downpour 

155 


The Garden oe Faith. 


of rain, Robert had been fully restored to his 
senses as well as soaked to the skin. Now, that 
he had caught a glimpse of the struggling girl, the 
memory of all that had taken place came swiftly 
back to him, and when the next flash came show- 
ing the form of the giant as he disappeared into 
his hut, Robert jumped to his feet. 

Weakened from his exposure and the blow 
upon the head he at first staggered about like a 
drunken man, and a cry came from his lips and 
a prayer from heart. ‘God, I am but a worm — 
a weak, squirming worm — but I want you to help 
me to be a man — ^help me to save that girl. If 
you don’t — I — I — I’m afraid I can’t never believe 
in You any more.” 


156 


CHAPTER XXL 


THROUGH THE BLACK POOL. 

The tempest of the day and evening had long 
since ceased. The grayness of a new dawn came 
creeping above the horizon. In his hut the king 
of the giants lay stretched out on the floor, a 
knife wound in his breast. 

Without the ajoupa a profound silence reigned. 
Twenty rods to the left, tall ferns covered the 
soil around a big boulder. Presently they be- 
gan to move almost imperceptibly, as though 
some creeping thing moved among their stems. 
Ever and anon, the trifling oscillation stopped, 
and then it begain again after a brief interval. 
After several of these vibrations, followed by 
deep silences, Robert’s head appeared from be- 
hind the boulder. 

He raised himself and watched for some min- 
utes the black waters in the pool near the rock. 
How different were their actions from the move- 
ments of the waters in the white pool whither 
he had entered this strange place. Instead of a 
flowing, and a rushing of the waters toward the 
center, there seemed to be a hidden force which 
drew them outward. 

Another movement of the reeds near him, and 

157 


The Garden oe Faith. 


the disheveled head of the maiden appeared. Rob- 
ert turned and looked into her face. 

‘T was afraid to stay there alone,” she whis- 
pered. 

The youth rose to his feet and lifted the girl 
gently in his strong right, though now wounded 
arm. ‘‘Girl,” he spoke hoarsely, ‘‘girl, you will 
always need me near you — you will never wish to 
be left alone.” 

He drew her closely, kissing her cheeks, her 
brow and her hair. He heard her give a low sigh, 
and then, he felt her lift her face and yield her 
lips happily. 

When she drew her head back and looked at 
him the sun shot its first ray of light across her 
face. “I felt you would come to me, dream boy, 
but I did not think it would be in this far-away 
land. When a little tot I used to play in the 
garden at home. I often saw you coming to 
save me from some imaginary monster. Always, 
you were so brave, so gallant, and so handsome 
with your dreamy eyes, your clustering curls and 
your wonderful sword. I knew you that night 
as soon as you came into the throne room. And, 
oh, I was so frightened when you fought with 
that monster last night in the hut.” 

“Girl, I fought for you because I would not 
wish to live without you. You say that as a 


158 


Through the Buack Pool. 


child you frequently saw me coming to save you 
from some imaginary monster. Do you think 
you have known me all these years and I have 
not known you? Ah, many times, my princess, 
have I saved your golden curls from a scalding 
in the big kettle of the old, fat ogre’s, and many 
times did you kiss me for saying you.” 

“And many times will I kiss you again, fairy 
knight,” said the maid smiling gladly and lifting 
her lips to his. 

Scarcely had the maid stopped speaking ere 
there came the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“Quick,” cried Robert, “behind the rock.” 

They ran forward hand in hand. They stopped 
at the black pool and stared into its inky depths. 
For a moments neither spoke, then, pointing into 
the swirling waters as they seethed and foamed, 
Robert opened his lij)s, but no sound came. 

The maid shuddered and clung closely to him. 
Finally, she lifted her face and smiled — a wee, 
sad smile it was, and it cut Robert to the heart. 
He grasped her to his breast and kissed her pas- 
sionately. 

The boy’s voice trembled as he held the maid in 
his arms and spoke. “Life is good, dear, sweet 
fairy queen, now that I’ve found you, but death 
with you in the pool there would be better than 
life without you. If they come after us, dearest. 


169 


The Garden oe Faith. 


we must take the plunge. Together we will seek 
a grave in the waters there. Together, dear, we 
will go to our grave smiling into each others’ 
eyes — clasped in an embrace that must last all 
through eternity.” 

“God knows how much we love, my good, 
brave fairy knight, and I feel sure that He will be 
kind to us.” 

Trembling, with proud, brave heads held high 
and eyes sparkling with their new found love 
they caught the sound of the nearness of the black 
men. 

“Are you ready?” whispered Robert. 

“I am,” the maid replied, and she hid her face 
upon his shoulder and shuddered. 

“Look up and be brave,” Robert said. 

The girl lifted her white, frightened face and he 
kissed the trembling lips, then, lest her courage 
fail her he lifted her roughly in his arms and 
leaped clear of the rock. Behind him he heard 
a shout of anger. He felt a form pass him at 
the right. He closed his eyes and tried to pray. 


160 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE SNAKE DANCE. 

Robert felt the form of the girl shiver in his 
arms, then came the roar of the seething waters 
and a terrible sucking sensation as he was pulled 
downward with a rush. A giddy, sickening feel- 
ing came over him as he was hurled round, and 
round. After that he suffered greatly for the 
lack of air. His lungs felt as though they would 
surely burst, and for a moment he thought to 
remove his hand from the girl’s mouth and nos- 
tris. He knew she must be suffering terribly. 
‘‘Poor girlie,” he thought, “how can God be so 
cruel ?” His throat tightened with something like 
tears. 

At last, when he felt he must surely give up, 
there came a feeling of being hurled upward with 
accelerated force and speed. Then there came 
the touch upon his cheek of pure, cold air, and 
he quickly gulped down a mouthful. Not for a 
moment did he forget the girl in his arms, but 
he immediately removed his hand from her face. 

With a great effort he drew her head out of 
the water. He felt her arms clasped tightly 
about his neck. He knew her face lay close to 
his — a sweet, dear face — ^so cold — so white — so 


161 


The Garden of Faith. 


still. Could she be dead? The thought drove 
him fairly frantic and he breathed wildly into 
her mouth, at the same time struggling and batt- 
ling to keep them both afloat. 

Robert soon found that swimming under such 
conditions was no easy task, and his strength be- 
gan to wane. How long could he keep it up? If 
he should let the girl go he could keep it up for 
some time he felt sure. Then he wondered if 
the good God would ever forgive him for think- 
ing such a thought. Anyway, he wouldn’t want 
to live without her, and if she must die now he 
wanted to go with her. It would a happy death 
to die, that of holding her in his arms. 

Suddenly he felt his feet touch land, and he, 
panting and weak, dragged the girl to the shore — 
a rocky, rough shore it was — and here he laid her 
down. Then everything went swimming about 
just like a whole nest of little fishes — and dark- 
ness came. 

When he opened his eyes it was to look upon 
the face of the girl as she bent over him. His 
head felt queer and she looked so far off that at 
first he thought himself in the land of the here- 
after. Vaguely he wondered if he liked that part 
of the Bible where it said something about there 
being no marrying or giving in marriage in the 
kingdom of Heaven. He felt sure he wasn’t going 


162 


The Snake Dance. 


to like it. He didn’t see how the good Lord 
could think that he would. 

“Speak to me, boy, for I love you — I love you,” 
he heard a sweet voice say. 

His big brown eyes opened wider, and he be- 
gan to see things in a new light. A happy smile 
came over his face as he held out both arms. 
“My princess, we are saved — we are saved,” he 
cried. 

“Yes, saved,” the sweet voice replied. 

After they were recovered from their exhaus- 
tion they made their way through the tangled 
underbrush and vines that surrounded the rocky 
shore upon which they were cast. Soon they 
found themselves approaching a settlement. 

It may seem strange to those who have never 
visited that land to the south of us to know that 
there is a class of people who know less than 
some of our animals. It is true, they wear no 
clothing except in cold weather when they cover 
themselves with rude, rough skins. It is true 
they they have no huts in which to live, but roam 
about like so many wild animals. In the in- 
terior of South America there dwells the most 
uncivilized savages known to man. 

Just as they came upon this strange settle- 
ment of people, both blushing and ashamed to 
look upon their fellow creatures, George came 


163 


The Garden oe Faith. 


staggering up, tired and worn from his recent 
adventure. It was he whom Robert had seen 
shoot past him as he plunged into the black pool. 

For a moment the trio stood looking upon the 
strange scene lying directly before them. The 
country was wild and rugged. It was indeed a 
lofty eminence covered with huge rocks, between 
which arose tall palm trees of several varieties. 
The tall trees stood out from the background like 
giant sentinels. 

From this lofty height one could look down 
upon a deek valley — shaded, fertile and bathed in 
the light of a setting sun. What could not man 
do in such a land? What an abundant harvest 
such a place would bring forth if only the soil 
could be turned by the civilized plow share. 

Not for long did our friends look upon this 
scene for they were as strange to the people 
living here as the people were to them. Several 
of the wild men came creeping cautionsly to- 
ward them. Slowly they came as though fearful 
of their strange presence. 

“Ret’s run,” whispered the girl. 

“Let’s bluff them,” whispered Robert. 

“I cal’late them’s funny folkses,” said George. 

When the strange, naked creatures came near 
Robert bowed deeply, requesting the maiden to 
do likewise. She complied by catching her skin- 


164 


The: Snakf Dance:. 


skirts in her hands and courtesying in a manner 
becoming to a colonial grandmother. 

Some time later after our friends had partaken 
of a concoction of dog meat and corn which 
had been ground roughly between two stones, 
and after they had sought repose, the maid on a 
llama skin near a clump of tall ferns and Robert 
and George on the ground just opposite, they 
were disturbed by the beating of an instrument. 

Lifting himself on his elbows Robert could 
watch the wild actions of nude forms. The in- 
strument upon which they played was a cylinder 
made of wood and covered at one end with vel- 
lum. Kneeling upon the ground in a prayerful 
position, in the center of a circle, and before a 
blanket, was an old woman. Her face was dried 
and wrinkled. Her features were horrible to be- 
hold. Large rings made from the teeth of wild 
animals hung from her ears. 

Upon the blanket was a kettle filled with live, 
red coals, and near the kettle, curled, and with 
head swinging from side to side, while its red 
tongue ran out, was a large python. In a cage at 
the woman’s right were several birds. 

As Robert looked the woman opened the cage 
and liberated one of the birds. The snake darted 
forth its head and swallowed it at one single gulp. 
Three birds did the woman release, and three 


165 


The Garden oe Faith. 


times did the snake dart forth its head swallowing 
them. As the woman liberated the birds with 
one hand she threw upon the coals wtih the other 
a red-flash powder and for a time the air was 
filled with a fragrant perfume. 

After the sweet odor had subsided dancing be- 
gan. The bodies of the dancers were decorated 
with long neck chains made from rabbits’ feet 
and huge animal teeth colored and stained in 
many tinted hues. As the dancing progressed 
they became wilder and wilder, working them- 
selves into a wild frenzy. 

Finally, after much shouting, puffing, blow- 
ing and grunting they began falling by ones, 
twos and threes in an exhausted heap. Through 
it all the old woman continued to feed the snake 
and to throw the powder upon the hot coals at 
regular intervals. 

Robert watched the figures lying there upon 
the ground in their wretched condition. They 
frothed at the mouth and stared with fixed eyes 
Presently, he called softly to the girl. 

^Xet’s get out of this while they are unable to 
resist our going.” 

“Yes, and let us take this llama skin with us.” 

“Sure, we will,” said Robert gathering it in his 
arms, “I wish we had the tent, and canoe we 
left there with the giants. 


166 


Thk Snake; Dance;. 


“What good would the canoe do?” 

“Well, anyhow the tent would be a handy 
thing.” 

“Do ye reckon Fd better look fur a snack fur 
us to eat ’afore we go ?” asked George. 

“It certainly wouldn’t be a bad idea for us 
to take something along,” replied Robert. 

The old woman was nodding over her kettle of 
coals and the big snake lay coiled in sleep, when 
the three friends made their way down the eastern 
side of the elevated land. In the east could be 
seen a faint streak of gray heralding the coming 
of another day. 

It was in the afternoon of the second day after 
the snake dance when Robert, the girl and George 
came to a zig-zag road which led to a spacious 
garden. Roses and lillies were there and vines 
and palms of beautiful leafage on either side of 
the walk. In the garden there were statutes, 
lofty pillars, and fountains in the open. 

“What is it?” asked the girl in awed tones. 

“It’s the grounds belonging to that old stone 
building we can see through that break in the 
trees and shrubbery over there.” 

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed that,” said the girl. 

“What kind o’ a place do you reckon it is?” 
asked George. 

“Well, it is no doubt the home of some priest. 


167 


The Garden oe Faith. 


and I doubt not but that we may be able to get 
something to eat if nothing more/’ 

Robert was wrong about this as they soon 
learned. The man living here was an English- 
man. He and his family, which consisted of three 
sons and one dauhter, besides a pretty wife, lived 
in luxury and kept many servants. 

That night the Englishman had a long talk 
with Robert. He told him much about this part 
of South America. Said he: “If you feel you 
wish to be happy, rich and enjoy the best climate 
on earth, lad, you should stay right here. Of 
course we have no schools here, and I find it es- 
sential to send my boys and girl to the city, 
but then, think of a country where one finds it 
warm enough in the summer to raise good crops 
and not cold enough in the winter to require arti- 
ficial heat.” 

“It is a nice place here,” replied Robert. “How 
large a spot is this little paradise and how high 
above the sea?” 

“It is on a high plateau between two and three 
thousand feet above the sea. It is about five hun- 
dred miles wide by eight hundred long. This 
place has four gate ways, Santos, Paranague, 
Alegre and Rio Grande. All these sea ports, as 
you perhaps know, are hot. I tell you, boy, 
Southern Brazil is the wonder spot of the world, 

168 


The: Snake: Danc^. 


Where can you find another place like it? Where 
can you find better opportunities?’' 

‘T am sure I cannot tell you, sir. I would 
give anything to own a place like this one of 
yours.” 

‘‘You can easily own such a place, lad. The 
government of Brazil will allow you two hundred 
and fifty acres for cultivation, and one thousand, 
two hundred and fifty for pasture. It will cost 
you about two dollars per acre. You have seen 
the woods, the streams and the deep soil. You 
know that such land will, in the course of fifteen 
or twenty years, be worth ten times as much as it 
is now.” 

For two long weeks did our friends tarry with 
the Englishman. Then they were transported to 
Santos where they set sail for home. 


169 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


HOPE DUNBAR. 

So you are Hope Dunbar, Floyd Dunbar’s sis- 
ter?” Robert asked as he and his fair companion 
sat upon the deck of a home-bound steamer. 

“Yes, I am his sister, and oh, I am so very 
anxious to get back home again. Of course, it 
won’t seem much like home to me. I was so 
young when mama died.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Only seven.” 

“Then you left with your father soon after she 
died?” 

“Yes, Father found it so lonely after mamma 
died that he could not endure the place, so he put 
Floyd in a boy’s school and took me with him to 
South America.” 

“How came you to go into the Inca country?” 

“Well, father heard of the ruby, you know, and 
felt that to hunt for it would help him forget.” 

“But it surely seems strange that he would 
take you there.” 

“Perhaps. But he always said that I was the 
very picture of mama and he could not bear to 
be separated from me.” 

“He must have taught you a great deal while 


170 


Hope: Dunbar. 


you were with those giants there.” 

“O, yes, he spent most of his time teaching me, 
and trying to find a way out.” 

“How does it come that they did not marry 
you to that chief of the giants when your father 
was alive?” 

“Well, papa was the chief until he died. I was 
his wife in sight of the giants.” 

“What a strange experience.” 

“Yes, and you should have seen papa. They 
made a hole through his nose in which he wore 
the bar that designated him as chief. And he 
wore rings through his ears. He had to do this 
in order to keep friends with those people.” 

“Who was king before your father entered 
the place?” 

“I do not know, but I think their king had just 
died and they though the gods had sent father to 
take his place.” 

“What a strange experience,” Robert again 
repeated. 

“Say, boy, do you know that you haven’t yet 
told me your name. You remember we were to 
tell our names as soon as we were well started 
for home.” 

“Well, it’s just plain Robert Barrington.” 

“Robert Barrington?” and the girl’s voice was 
filled with surprise. 


171 


The Garden oe Faith. 


'‘Have you heard the name?” 

“Sure, I have. Why as far back as I can re- 
member your parents were looking for you.” 

"Just my mother, girlie; I didn’t have any 
father.” 

"Well, then you are not the Robert Barring- 
ton whom I mean, for he had a father. I can 
remember him quite well. A little man he was, 
not one bit like you, but awfully nice.” 

"Do you mean that he was not like me in 
size, or not like me in being 'awfully nice’?” 

"Which do you think?” 

"I couldn’t guess. 

"Then don’t try.” 

"I am not going to. But about my mother — 
wasn’t she a fine looking woman ?” 

"She was beautiful.” 

"Yes, I think she was. I have wanted so much 
to go back to her, but I never could get the 
money.” 

"I wish you would tell me about your abduc- 
tion, dear ?” and the maid laid her hand gently on 
Robert’s arm. 

"I can’t tell you much, but I know that I must 
be the Robert Barrington of whom you refer 
for mother had a cottage near your folks, and I 
frequently played with Floyd in the nursery where 
you must have later played.” 


172 


Hope: Dunbar. 


‘‘Yes, I am quite sure you are the right per- 
son for whom they were looking. It seems you 
were carried into the hills and there disappeared 
at the time when one of the boys from the hills 
was lost. Of course that one is George. Oh, 
there is no doubt but that you are the Robert 
Barrington who lived near us.” 

“Yes, I truly must be, but I cannot remember 
having a father around. Perhaps he was in 
Alaska looking for a gold mine.” 

“And returned with his pocket filled with gold. 
This must have been the case, for when I re- 
member them they were living in a big house 
at the edge of town. A large park lay just behind 
it.” 

“I can well remember that park, and I thought 
at the time it belonged to me. Later, as I grew 
in years, I have thought there was something 
strange about the way things were there. Well, 
I will soon learn all about it. Didn’t you say 
that my father was a little man?” 

“Yes, but I don’t think they lived in town all 
the time. I have a faint idea that they some- 
times lived elsewhere. Where I do not know. 
Anyhow, I don’t think they were always at home. 
But tell me about your abduction.” 

“There isn’t much to tell. You see I was only 
four or five years old at the time. George says 


173 


The Garden oe Faith. 


that the man who stole us took us with him to 
some sea port. I think it must have been San 
Diego. Wherever it was, it seems George took 
me in his arms and left the guy one night when 
the fellow was asleep. He found a place to hide 
on board a freight boat. Here we fell asleep, and 
when we awoke we were far out at sea. We 
landed in South America and ended up as you 
know.” 

“Where did you go to school?” 

“Oh, George worked hard to keep me in school. 
I intended trying for an entrance into the medi- 
cal college at Buenos Ayres next year, if I could 
earn the money. As it is I think I will try to 
earn enough to go when I get home.” 

“I don’t think it will be essential for you to do 
that. I am quite sure your folks have a plenty.” 

“Well, I hope so, but from all I can remember 
of home, my mother was not crowded with 
money. I did not know it at the time, but I 
feel she denied herself many things in order to 
get me what I wanted. She sure was a dear, good 
mother.” 

“Yes, of course she was, and so was mine.” 

“I feel so anxious about her. Sometimes I 
think she may be dead.” 

“Oh, I do hope not. I don’t want you to know 
what a horrible thing it is to lose one’s mother.” 


174 


Hope Dunbar. 


Just here some one sighted the Statue of Lib- 
erty, and all on deck were trying to get a peep 
at it. Robert rushed to the front leading the 
girl by the hand. Every one seemed to make 
way for him. One look into his eager, delighted 
face was enough to turn all eyes in his direction. 
“Oh, Hope,” he cried in excited tones, “see the 
Stars and Stripes wave. I can never remember 
of seeing them wave like that before-^and Hope 
you haven’t seen them for years.” 

As he spoke he had excitedly jerked his hat 
from his head, and when he swung it high above 
him every other hat on deck waved in company, 
while the ladies shook dainty, white handkerchiefs 
in the breezes. 

After the excitement of the moment was over 
Robert secretly reached for Hope’s hand. And 
thus they sailed into the harbor, neither speaking 
because their hearts were full. 


175 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


AMONG THE POPPIES. 

In a corner of Faith’s garden yellow poppies 
nodded in the breezes. Faith wandered to the 
spot and began gathering them. It seemed she 
could never understand the change which hao 
come into her life. It was as though she had 
been removed to another world where time was 
not counted by hours, and by days, but in some 
manner that she could not understand. 

Keith, reclining in the shelter of a mass of the 
blossoms near the hedge, watched her through 
half closed eyes. Lovely petals from the flowers 
fell full upon him. The warm rays of the after- 
noon sun, softened by the branches of the trees, 
played whimsical games among the leaves and 
often big, silver-winged butterflies and round, big 
bellied bees joined in the sport. 

In an opening, just overhead, he could see a 
hawk flying high in the pale, blue sky. He 
watched it float along on motionless wings, then 
his eyes wandered back to the woman. Silently, 
he watched his mate as she glided about gather- 
ing the poppies. Stopping here and there, she 
sometimes caressed a withered bud. Ever and 
anon she moved to the gate in the hedge and 


176 


Among the; Poppie:s. 


looked with eager eyes down the road. Keith 
sighed and with the sigh he inhaled a breath of 
the fragrant air. Well did he know of the ache, 
and the longing in the woman’s heart as she 
watched the road for some one bringing her 
word of her boy. Had he not watched for her in 
like manner as she now watched for her boy — his 
little son? 

The once brown hair about Faith’s temples had 
changed to a silver gray, making the beauty of 
her face more beautiful. Fifteen years of wait- 
ing, searching and watching has not failed to 
leave traces upon the faces of both the man and 
the woman. 

So still did Keith lay that a big, golden-winged 
butterfly darted through the bough of the hedge, 
and rested for a moment upon his gray streaked 
temple. When the man moved it flew swiftly 
away following the course of a sunbeam. 

Faith came near bearing her armful of pop- 
pies. “Keith, why do you rest beneath those 
blossoms ? Is it because you would forget ? Some 
do say there is sleep and forgetfulness in these 
little golden cups, but that is not true, for I have 
gathered them often, making them into a pillow. 
I have tried to sleep and forget — but, Keith, there 
is no forgetting.” 

“Then why try to forget, dear? We still have 


177 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


our love, can we not be happy with that?” 

“But, Keith, love is not happiness. Why do 
people say that love is happiness ? Why do they 
lie, Keith? Or is it because they do not know? 
The heart is not always happy when love comes. 
It often times aches. First, with love comes joy 
and light, then comes a great storm and all the 
love is shaken as though by a great tempest,” and 
the woman buried her face in the yellow buds. 

“Don’t talk so. Faith, my dream girl, it grieves 
me deeply.” 

Through the stillness of the early afternoon 
came the sounds of deep chords, and penetrating 
flights of melody. Nearer, still nearer, came the 
sounds and Faith drew near to the man and 
whispered, “Jim must have returned, Keith, let 
us go to meet him.” 

Fifteen years before, upon the day when George 
and Robert had taken the strange plunge into the 
mill stream, Jim had found his mother, or rather, 
Jim’s mother had found him. 

Years prior to this time, when John LaVelle 
was a youth of twenty years he had come into the 
hill country to preach at the school-house, he 
said, but in reality it had been to establish a den 
beneath the old mill, for a counterfeiting gang. 

At that time Petina Crosby had been a beauti- 
ful maid of sixteen. Coming of Italian parentage 


178 


Among the; Poppies. 


and inheriting all the beauty of her race, she 
was one to attract the admiration of any man. 
LaVelle had been wholly enamored, and she, in 
return, had loved the handsome young man. 

The almost inevitable result of this mutual in- 
fatuation had been that Petina, at LaVelle’s earn- 
est pleadings, should go with him to the great 
city. He had made her many promises. Perhaps 
at the time he meant to keep them. Let us hope 
that the hearts of men are not always as bad as 
they seem. But be that as it may, one year later a 
bright-eyed boy opened his eyes on a world where 
he was wholly an unwelcome guest to the father 
who had given him life. 

Two years passed and LaVelle was completely 
tired of the girl. She had lost much of her old- 
time charm since the baby came, and well, what’s 
the use where there are hundreds and hundreds 
of maids who are waiting for just such beasts — 
waiting to be snared in the trap of the devil’s 
making — such men as LaVelle are not be found 
clinging to faded beauty — to charms that are 
deadened by sorrow and woe. So, it took very lit- 
tle to arouse the beast of the man into full pas- 
sion and Petina, poor Petina, saw the spark of 
her love die out. 

One evening, while the skies grew black with 
angry clouds, the couple wandered to the edge 

179 


The Garden of Faith. 


of a deep ravine to watch the tumultous beatings 
of the waters in the boisterous stream below. 
Standing on the brink, holding her child in her 
arms, Petina looked indeed faded and worn. 
Looking at her, LaVelle wondered what he had 
ever seen in her to cause him to act such a fool 
part. Never once did he consider that he had 
caused the beauty of this once handsome girl to 
fade. Never, does a man of his kind, think of any- 
thing but self. Handsome of face, and manly of 
form, LaVelle stood looking upon the faded 
beauty of the girl. A half sneer played about his 
handsome mouth, and he wondered why he 
should longer tarry here. In a fortnight his arms 
could clasp a form more graceful; his lips could 
seek the lips of a face more fair. 

“When are you going to keep your promise?’' 
Petina asked timidly. 

“What promise?” he asked brutally. 

“Why, about our getting married, you know. 
If we were married, I could go home and see 
father. He would like to see little Jimmie, I 
know.” 

“Little Jimmie, be damned,” cried LaVelle 
reaching for the boy and shaking him roughly. 

“John, don’t you hurt him. I know you do not 
like him, but dear, the poor child is not to blame. 
Can’t you — love him — just — a little?” 

180 


Among the Poppies. 


'‘Love him ? Love that bastard ?” and the man 
threw his own child far out into the seething 
stream. 

For a moment the woman looked at him with 
wide, frightened eyes. Then the fear turned to 
the deepest hate, “You — you — cur,” she cried, 
and then she rushed down the gorge to the stream 
below. 

A few weeks later, in the wee, small hours of the 
night, Petina returned to her father’s house and 
timidly knocked upon the door. How the old man 
received her is a story in itself. How he went 
forth into the city seeking the betrayer of his 
only child and some trace of her lost son is 
another tale. Petina was sure that her child 
was not dead, for an old fisherman had told her 
of having seen a feeble, old woman pick the 
little one up. 

Many times after that Petina, half crazed with 
anxiety, mourning and lamenting, wandered 
about the woods around the old mill, seeking her 
lost one. Frequently she arrayed herself in fancied 
bridal robes or in garments of deepest mourning. 
It was she whom Keith had seen upon the night 
he came back to his bungalow, a broken-hearted 
man. It was she who had caused the hill people 
to fear passing the old mill at night. Whenever 
they chanced to catch a glimpse of her the word 
181 


The Garden oe Faith. 


went hastily about, ‘‘Ole man Crosby’s woman 
hant is about agin.” 

Upon the day when Robert and George had dis- 
appeared, Faith had bade Jim go forth into her 
garden and there play his sweetest violin melo- 
dies. She felt that should Robert be near he 
would hear and would hasten to answer the call. 
So, while Keith and the men were scouring the 
woods. Retina came upon Faith and Jim as they 
stood amid the roses, the last rays of the after- 
noon sun falling about them. With wide eyes the 
half crazed creature had listened to the sweet 
voice of the instrument, then she rushed forward 
in a manner that fairly frightened the boy. Some 
how, God had given her the power to know her 
child. In his mis-shapen back she saw the effects 
of his having been cast into the deep ravine. 

“Jimmy, my little Jimmie,” she cried as she 
rushed toward him. 

As the boy drew back in fear, another form 
entered the garden through the gate in the hedge. 
Tall, yet with form bent, the strange musician, 
Jim’s dearly loved friend, came walking slowly 
up. His deep set black eyes looked from beneath 
heavy gray brows, and his long white hair fell 
in ringlets about his neck. At sight of Retina, 
and at the sound of Jim’s cry of fear, he stopped 
short. 


182 


Among the Poppies. 


“Don’t frighten the lad, Petina, child,” he said. 

“But he’s my boy, father, can’t you see he is 
my child.” 

“Yes, Petina, I think he is, but let me speak to 
him now.” 

Thus it happened that Jim found his loved ones 
and the hearts of all were made glad. 

So today Keith and Faith waited for their 
friend with glad lights in their eyes. 

“He plays the old man’s Cremona, does he 
not?” whispered Faith. 

“Yes, I think so. How well the old man must 
love him,” and the man and woman went for- 
ward to greet the great, yet crippled musician. 


183 


CHAPTER XXV. 

FAITH LEARNS OF GOD’S GOODNESS. 


The moonlight shadow things came out to play 
along the paths in Faith’s garden. From the 
woodland many night voices called, while the 
air was filled with the odors of wildwood flowers. 
Night-birds, singing their lonely songs, could be 
heard in the distance and from his place high up 
in the sky, the moon looked calmly down. 

“ ’Tis a beautiful night. Faith, my dream girl,” 
said Keith as they entered the garden through 
the gate in the hedge, “one can almost be happy 
such nights as this.” 

“Yes, almost, Keith, but always, there comes 
the thought of our little boy. We cannot be 
happy when we know that somewhere he may be 
in great need — or perhaps — in great trouble. It 
seems it would have been more kind of God had 
He taken him in death, then we would know there 
is no hope.” 

“God is ever kind, dear. I am sure that God is 
always kind. We cannot understand His ways. 
Faith, but I am sure that His ways are best. Some 
day we shall know that His way has been best.” 

“But it is so hard, dearest; it is hard to be 
always waiting for the good things that never 
come.” 


184 


Faith Le:arns of God's Goodness. 

“God is good, and God is merciful. Everyday 
while I waited here in this garden for you, dear, 
I felt God’s spirit ever hovering over me, until 
little by little, peace came to me, and I learned 
to wait for you — trusting always in His goodness. 
You see. Faith, I did not wait and trust in vain.” 

Faith clung to Keith’s arm and stared with 
unseeing eyes into the night — she was thinking — 
deeply thinking. The stars, lying against their 
background of black velvet, twinkled and blinked 
just like so many little eyes — watching, always 
watching. “You must have been lonely, Keith. 
The loneliness must have been terrible.” 

“At first, it was awful; the long, lonely days, 
and the lonesome, sleepless nights. And there 
was the wind — always the mournful wind — speak- 
ing through the trees, bringing thoughts of you, 
and ever seeming to say that you loved another.” 

“Oh, Keith, God was so good to bring me back 
again. He brought me back that I might learn 
of you how to live the good, true life — not such 
a life as my heart then desired — for that, and all 
such lives as that, are filled with woe. Why, 
Keith, I wonder why the hearts of the young are 
always desiring the things that are evil ?” 

“Because, dear, Satan is forever blinding their 
eyes, and you know. Faith, that he is ruler here.” 

“Indeed, I do not know that he is ruler. I 


185 


The Garden oe Faith. 


thought that Christ was ruler here. Did He not 
come to overcome the power of the Devil? Surely, 
Keith, Christ is king.'’ 

“That is the mistaken idea of so many, Faith, 
That is the reason so many people cannot under- 
stand the Bible. They forget that Christ said, 
T go to prepare a place for you, and if I go to 
prepare a place for you I will come again.’ They 
also forget that He said, ‘My kingdom is not 
of this world.’ They do not seem to understand 
what He meant when He said, ‘The prince of this 
world cometh and he hath nothing in me.’ Oh, 
Faith, my heart is so sad, oh so sad, when T 
think of the darkness that covers this earth, yet 
I know I ought not feel sad, for the good book 
tells us that such must be.” 

“Do you mean to say, Keith, that Christ is not 
now king?” 

“That is exactly what I mean. Do you think 
if Christ ruled this world there would be so 
much wickedness going on? Surely you cannot 
think that He would permit such things to be.” 

“Oh, I scarcely know what I do think. The 
Bible seems to confuse me. Sometimes it seems 
to contradict itself. One place it says, ‘He that 
believeth shall be saved,’ and in another, ‘The 
soul that sinneth, it shall die.’ And then it goes 
farther, and says, ‘If we say we are without sin. 


186 


Faith Learns of God's Goodnfss. 


we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us/ 
So that looks like very few will be saved. Do 
you think, Keith, there is anyone who does not 
sin?” 

“That is a big question, dear. That is an in- 
terrogation of considerable magnitude. To say 
that I think there are those without sin would 
only cause you to ask what I think God meant by 
the words you have just quoted. But I do say 
that there must be those who are worthy to be- 
come one of the little flock ; if it were not so, then 
would Christ’s death upon the cross be in vain.” 

“But does God just mean to save a few? I 
just cannot understand why God gave us all life, 
only to take it from us, or else torture us forever 
and forever in a place called hell.” 

“I couldn’t love God if I felt He was that sort 
of a being. Why, Faith, He would be treating His 
poor, weak children far worse than we could treat 
Robert. And we must remember how great 
is His love for us. We know He loved the world 
so well that He gave His only begotten Son to 
die a horrible death in order to save it. Long be- 
fore you and I were born, Christ died to save us.” 

“Yes, Christ died to save the world, and then it 
seems He is to save but a few.” 

“Just a few will become His Bride, dear, and 
they were chosen in Him in the beginning.” 


187 


The Garden of Faith. 


‘‘Chosen in the beginning? Keith, you cannot 
mean it. That would be horribly unjust.” 

“Truly it would not, dear. It would be far 
more just than any other way. And it is true. 
The Bible says, ‘Therefore, hath He mercy on 
whom He will have mercy, and whom He will He 
hardeneth’. Now, dear, you perhaps feel like ask- 
ing, as did the man of whom Paul speaks, ‘Why 
doth He yet find fault? For who hath resisted 
His will?’ If you ask that, Faith, you will get 
the same answer he got. ‘Nay, O man, who art 
thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing 
formed say to Him that formed it, ‘Why hast 
Thou made me thus ? Hath not the potter power 
over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel 
unto honour and another unto dishonour ?” 

“Then you think God made some of us unto 
honour, and some unto dishonour ?” 

“Yes, I do. I think God chose those, in the 
very beginning, whom He would make the Bride 
of His dear Son.’* 

“Oh, Keith, God could never be so unkind, and 
so unjust.” 

“If you understood God’s word as I understand 
it, you would not think it would be unkind. So 
few of us, dear, live lives worthy to become the 
Bride of Christ. Surely, Faith, you cannot feel 
that you and I are worthy of such a place.” 


188 


Faith Fkarns ot God's Goodness. 


“No, Keith, I suppose not, but I feel yoi; are 
far too good to be lost. You are anything but a 
bad man. Why, dear, I do not believe there is a 
better man living.” 

“Tut, tut, I am glad to hear you say so, but that 
is only because you love me, and cannot see my 
faults.” 

“Perhaps, dearest, but I cannot think that God 
will send you to a place of torment.” 

“Nor will He. And of course I mean to try for 
the place He offers to those who are faithful. If 
I do not win a crown, I will in no wise loose my 
reward.” 

“But if you are not given a crown, and made 
one of the elect, you will be cast into outer dark- 
ness where there will be wailing and gnashing of 
teeth, won’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And doesn’t that mean you will be sent tc 
hell?” 

“Indeed, no.” 

“Then those who are not of the elect will not 
be sent to hell. 

“All those who are to become the elect. Faith, 
were chosen in Christ. Paul says, ‘But we are 
bound to give thanks always to God for you, 
brethren, beloved of the Lord, because God hath 
from the beginning chosen you to salvation 


189 


The Garden oe Faith. 


through sanctification of the Spirit and belief of 
the truth.’ ” 

“And you think there will be only a few who 
will be worthy to become Christ’s Bride?” 

“Only a few, Faith. ‘Many are called, but 
few are chosen.’ ” 

“And what sort of people will become Christ*s 
Bride?” 

“Only those who give up all else to do God’s 
will. Only those who can learn to forgive and 
love their enemies. Only those who strike not 
back when others strike them.” 

“Very few are that good.” 

“That’s why there will be such a ‘little Flock.' 

“And all the rest, Keith, what of all the rest?” 

“They will not be given the everlasting life at 
the coming of our blessed Master.” 

“The elect will be given this everlasting life, 
will they not?” 

“Oh, yes. God promises that all through the 
Book. John says, in speaking of them, ‘Blessed 
and holy are they who have part in the first resur- 
rection, upon such, the second death hath no 
power, but they shall be priests of God and of 
Christ, and shall reign with Him a thousand 
years.” 

“So you think the Bride class will reign with 
Christ for a thousand years?” 


190 


Faith Learns oe God's Goodness. 


“That’s what the Bible tells me.” 

“And over whom will they rule ?” 

“Why over those who are not of the Bride 
class.” 

“I do not understand you, Keith. I wish you 
would tell me all about what it will be like when 
Christ comes.” 

“Come into the house and I will tell you all 
things, just as God has given it to me to under- 
stand.” 

The man and the woman passed though the 
little gate in the hedge, arm in arm, and disap- 
peared around the corner of the house. 


191 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 

When they were comfortably seated in the big 
chair, Eaith upon the arm with her hand tenderly 
caressing Keith’s hair, Keith began, while both 
looked through the big French window into the 
night. 

“Away back in the beginning. Faith, God gave 
Moses a plan for a tabernacle. This tabernacle 
which Moses builded in the wilderness was typi- 
cal of Christ’s kingdom. Inside, the tabernacle 
was divided into two rooms or chambers, namely, 
the Holy place and the Most Holy place. There 
was a court surrounding the tabernacle, and in 
the wall of the court there was a door. Outside 
the court the people of Israel lived in tents.” 

“Now, no one could enter through the gate 
into the court, but the priests. The priests could 
also enter the Holy chamber in the tabernacle, but 
farther than that they could not go, save of course 
the High priest, Moses, and he could go into the 
Most Holy place, because Moses walked and talk- 
ed with God.” 

“The duty of the priests, you will remember 
was to teach the people on the outside of the 
court. The priests would enter the Holy place, 


192 


A Pleasant Surprise. 


learn what word Moses would have them convey, 
and then go forth and teach these people.” 

“Thus, it is to be when Christ comes. Christ 
will be our High Priest. He will have the place 
formally occupied by Moses. Those who are 
made priests of God, and of Christ, about whom 
John tells us, will have the places occupied by 
Aaron, and his fellow priests. These prisets will 
be called the Elect, or the Bridge of Christ. John 
tells us that they will reign with Christ one 
thousand years. He says they will be given life 
everlasting, and the second death will have no 
power over them.” 

“In describing the work of the priests who will 
teach the people during that thousand years of 
Christ’s reign, John says, ‘And he showed me a 
pure river of the water of life, as clear as a crys- 
tal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of 
the Lamb.’ 

“ Tn the midst of the street of it, and on either 
side of the river was the tree of life, which 
bore twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her 
fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree were 
for the healing of the nations.’ ” 

“O, but Keith, I cannot understand what that 
means.” Faith said: 

“Perhaps not. Then listen. The river of 
which John speaks, represents the Elect, Christ’s 


193 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


Bride, or the priests, whichever you wish to call 
them. They will come from out the Holy place 
of God, and will teach the people on the outside 
of the throne, just as Aaron, and his fellow priests 
taught the children of Isreal. And their teaching 
will be for the healing of the nations. What 
would be the use of having this tree, whose leaves 
are for the healing of the nations, if everyone 
outside of the Elect had been destroyed?” 

^‘Of course there would be no need. But Keith 
what does it mean by saying a pure river, as clear 
as a crystal ?” 

'‘That means it will be a pure people, teaching 
a true, clear Gospel. At present the teachings 
of the Churches are filled with traditions, and 
clouded by false doctrines. And sometimes any-, 
thing but a true, pure teacher preaches it.” 

“And what will be the first thing to take place 
when Christ comes 

“Matthew says, ‘And He shall send His angels 
with a great sound of a trumpet; and they shall 
gather together His elect from the four winds, 
from the one end of the heaven to the other.’ ” 

“And what will then take place?” 

“The elect will be made priests of God and of 
Christ, as I told you while in the garden.” 

“And who will be the elect ?” 

“John, in speaking of this time says, ‘And I 


194 


A Pleasant Surprise. 


saw thrones, and they sat upon them, and judg- 
ment was given unto them; and I saw the souls 
of them that were beheaded for the witness of 
Jesus, and for the word of God, and which had 
not worshipped the beast, neither his image, 
neither had received his mark upon their fore- 
heads, or in their hands; and they lived and 
reigned with Christ a thousand years.” 

“Well, what else is to take place when Christ 
first comes?” 

“Well, in order that the Elect or the priests 
may teach the people, and the people may under- 
stand, and no longer be deceived as they have 
always been while here, it will be essential for 
God to bind the Devil.” 

“Does the Bible say that he is to be bound?” 

“It says, ‘And I saw an angel come down from 
heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit and 
a great chain in his hand.’ ” 

“ ‘And he laid hold on the dragon, that old 
serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound 
him a thousand years.’ ” 

“ ‘And cast him into the bottomless pit, and 
shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he 
should deceive the nations no more, till the thous- 
and years should be fulfilled ; and then he must be 
loosed for a little season.’ ” 

“Your belief must be right, Keith, for if every- 


05 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


one was given their reward, anyhow their ever- 
lasting reward, at the coming of Christ, and all 
the good were sent to a place called heaven, and 
the bad to a place called hell, there would be no 
one for the Devil to deceive, when he is loosed 
for that little season, would there 

“Indeed there would not, and surely God would 
never send the Devil out to deceive those to whom 
He had given everlasting life. He would not 
take that life away from them.” 

“Perhaps that is why Paul, in speaking of the 
resurrection, says, ‘There are bodies celestial, and 
bodies terrestrial.” 

“Of course it is, dear, and Paul gives a good 
description of the resurrection, too. He says, 
‘There are also celestial bodies, and bodies ter- 
restrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and 
the glory of the terrestrial is another.' Of course 
we can understand how the elect will be given 
celestial bodies when Christ comes, for a celestial 
body is a body that cannot die, and we are told 
that they will have no fear of the second death.” 

“How plain that is, Keith. And all those who 
are not of the elect will be given terrestrial bodies, 
for they will be in danger of the second death; 
and a terrestrial body, means a body that can die.” 

“Yes, that is true, and Faith did you ever notice 
how Paul says there are different glories. Every- 


196 


A Ple;asant Surprise. 


one in Christ’s kingdom will have a glory of his 
own. A glory, you know means praise or honor, 
and Paul shows us that there will be a difference 
in our rewards of praise, when we come into the 
next world.” 

“I guess I do not know about that.” 

“He represents Christ as being the sun, Christ’s 
Bride, or the Elect as being the moon, and all 
those on the outside of the tabernacle, or throne, 
as being the stars.” 

“What is it he says about them?” 

“He says, ‘There is one glory of the sun, and 
another glory of the moon, and another glory of 
the stars : for one star differs from another star 
in glory.’ You notice. Faith, how there is only 
one glory of the sun, and we know that the sun 
is masculine gender, and can mean no other than 
Christ. Then he says there is one glory of the 
moon. We know the moon to be feminine 
gender, and it therefore, can mean no other than 
the Bride. You see. Faith, he says there is only 
one glory of the moon. Of course we know that 
those who make up Christ’s Bride will all be 
classed as one. They will be as one in Christ, 
all sharing in the same reward.” 

“And how about the glory of the stars?” 

“Well stars might be classed as neuter gender, 
mightn’t they? And they will differ in glory, for 


197 


The Garden oe Faith. 


Paul says, ‘For one star differs from another in 
glory.’ O, Faith, we can plainly see how the 
stars will differ in glory. There will be those 
who will have lived such good, clean lives while 
here that they will receive as their reward much 
praise, and will become bright and shining stars 
in the Master’s kingdom. Even though they will 
have failed to win the crown of everlasting life, 
they will be ready to walk upon the Highway of 
Holiness, of which Isaiah tells us. And then, oh, 
how grieved we are Faith, when we think of all 
those who go through this life, paying no heed 
to the teachings of our great and good God. They 
live, day after day, in wickedness and sin, and 
they will receive a just reward, when they are 
made a faint, weak star in the kingdom of Christ. 
And besides, they will be in great danger of meet- 
ing with the second death.” 

“It is those people who will be outside the 
throne whom the Devil will go out to deceive, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what will happen to them if they fail to 
listen to the teachings of the Elect?” 

“Their names will not be found written in the 
Book of Life, and they will be cast into the Lake 
of Fire, which is the second death.” 

“What does the Bible say about that ?” 


198 


A Pleasant Surprise. 


“It says, ^And whosoever was not found written 
in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” 

“Then, Keith, every one must die the first 
death?” 

“Yes. No one can escape that. It was 
brought upon us by Adam, and is the price we 
must pay for our sins.” 

“That’s what the Bible means when it says, 
‘The wages of sin is death,’ isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“And, oh yes, Keith I wanted to ask you about 
those people whom you said would be outside the 
throne, or tabernacle. Is there any place in the 
Bible that says there will be people on the out- 
side of the throne?” 

“To be sure there is and we are given to under- 
stand that there will be a great many.” 

“How many will there be ?” 

“A great multitude, dear. John first tells us 
just how many there will be upon the throne, and 
then tells of those who will be before it. He 
says, ‘And I heard the number of them that were 
sealed: and, there were sealed an hundred and 
forty and four thousand of all the tribes of 
Israel’ ” 

“Those who are sealed are those upon the 
throne, then?” 


199 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


“Yes, they are those who will be given the 
crowns of everlasting life as soon as Christ 
comes.” 

“And about those who will be outside the 
throne or tabernacle ?” 

“The Word says, ‘After this I beheld, and, lo, 
a great multitude, which no man could number, 
of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and 
tongues, stood before the throne, and before the 
Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in 
their hands.’ ” 

“O, Keith, when one looks at it in your light 
the Bible does not seem to contradict itself. I 
can understand now what it means by saying, 
‘Many shall be called, but few chosen,’ and, 
‘Straight is the gate and narrow the way that 
leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’ ” 

“Yes, and you can also see that ‘Christ tasted 
death upon the cross for every man.’ ” 

“Truly, I can now see how sin was brought 
upon the world by the one man, Adam, and will 
be taken out by one man, Christ.” 

“But the strange part is. Faith, that God is 
working out this plan in a way that is so simple 
that very few take cognizance of it. The Bible 
tells us that man was put here to subdue all 
things, and because man is subduing things in a 
sensible and natural way, preparing this world 


200 


A Pleasant Surprise. 


for the coming of our King, very few people pay 
any attention to it. We have one great man 
advocating peace, and because some people can- 
not see what he means, and that God has really 
called him to that purpose, they are finding much 
fault with him.” 

“I presume, Keith, that you can see good in 
almost everything that is being advocated?’ 

“Truly, I can. And this war in the European 
nations does not grieve me, for Faith, I have 
read my Bible too much, and communed with my 
God too frequently not to know that it is a thing 
that had to be. Five years ago had one said that 
such a war as this would take place in one of 
our Christian countries, that one would have been 
scoffed at. But now that several of the Christian 
countries are at war, and we ourselves can not 
swear that we will not be in it, we are somewhat 
surprised, but still refuse to believe that it is 
God’s way, and His will.” 

“Yes, and I heard you telling some one the 
other day that you believed the time for our 
Master’s return was drawing near.” 

“I do think so, for everything points to that 
fact, and one -cannot be blind to it. Did not 
Daniel speak of a great running to and fro, that 
was to be? Do you not think that he, were he 
to return today, would look upon our steam cars. 


201 


The Garden oe Faith. 


our motor machines, our automobiles, and our 
air ships as things that are causing a great run- 
ning to and f ro ? Do you not think that all things 
point to our Christ’s return ?” 

‘T really do not understand things like you do, 
Keith.” 

“Well, don’t you think that we are bound to 
have prohibition in a few years ? Don’t you think 
that the day is coming when suffrage will be 
granted to woman? Will that not be a placing 
of the woman in her rightful position for Christ’s 
kingdom? We know that in the Kingdom of 
Heaven there is to be no marrying nor giving 
in marriage. And don’t you think that when 
woman is made the equal of man in every way 
that there will be fewer marriages?” 

“Yes, I think that.” 

“And don’t you think that God will bring all 
this about in a way that we can understand? Of 
course He will. And then, we have people advo- 
cating Socialism. That is as it should be, and 
we will have it when Christ comes. Then, too, 
we have our teachers of Christian Science. That, 
too, is well, for it is meant for Christ’s kingdom, 
and will constantly gain in favor until that time, 
but of course no scientist believes this. That is, 
they do not think that it is meant for the Master’s 
kingdom. But whether they think it or not, it 


202 


A Ple:asant Surprised. 


is the truth, and we shall all know some day, just 
how great and wonderful God’s plan has been.” 

“O, Keith, God is so good. His mercy and 
love is greater than anything we can know. His 
plan for the salvation of His weak, erring chil- 
dren is so filled with love and kindness. It seems, 
dear, that I want to be there now — before that 
great, white throne, with a palm in my hand. If 
we fail to become one of the elect, it will be so 
nice to be permitted to serve him before the 
throne, and be a bright and shining star in the 
Kingdom.” 

The clock upon the mantle struck one — two — 
three — , and was followed by nine more chimes. 
Just as the last stroke ceased chiming there came 
the sound of hurrying feet across the porch floor ; 
a knock sounded upon the door, and Keith cross- 
ed the room to admit the mid-night visitor. 
When he opened the door a big, broad shouldered 
lad rushed past him, and a hearty voice called, 
“Mother, I say, mother, here I am all safe and 
sound.” 

For fifteen long years the little mother had 
di earned of her lad’s restoration to her arms, and 
always, had she felt to take him upon her knees 
as in the olden days. Now, as the manly fellow 
put his arms about her, lifting her clear off the 
floor, a strange feeling came creeping over her — 


203 


The Garden Faith. 


a feeling resembling that of standing by a grave 
to watch the casket of some dear friend as it Is 
laid away. This feeling was followed by one of 
the deepest joy — ^this martial built man was her 
son — her little Robbie. How proud she felt as 
he lifted her and carried her across the room. She 
watched him as he turned to greet his father. 

Keith who had been calmly lighing the lamp 
stood with his back to them. Robert crossed the 
room towering a good six inches above him. 
‘‘Why, you little bit of a man,’’ he said with glad 
tones. The man turned, and without a word 
walked out into the night. 

When Keith reached the big rose bush in the 
corner of Faith’s garden, the bush with the broken 
top, he stopped, and stood for some minutes 
staring straight ahead. Then, to his knees he 
sank, and the woman, and the boy coming through 
the gate in the hedge, saw, and understood. There 
are tears of joy as well as tears of sorrow. 


204 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY. 

Big oak trees cast their flickering shadows over 
the roses in Faith’s garden. A bushy tailed squir- 
rel scampered swiftly up a tree ,and peeped with 
wary eyes upon the small intruder. Once again 
the roses were in full bloom — red and rich and 
beautiful. 

A rosy cheeked cherub of about four years 
crushed the velvety petals between dimpled, solid 
hands. Golden brown curls blew about her 
baby-face, and two big, gray eyes looked from 
between eyelids fringed with long, dark lashes. 
The eyes were filled with 'wonder and surprise as 
they watched a big, black bumble bee bumbling 
in and out over the fragrant blossoms. 

There was a slight drooping of the corners of 
the tiny, rosebud mouth, and as she watched with 
questioning, the queer thing that made the strange 
sound, she lifted the little, pointed chin in a way 
that told her mind had been reduced to deep 
thought. She lifted the wee chin in a way that 
would have told grand-mamma the truth, and pre- 
vailed upon her to say, ^‘Just like little Robbie 
used to do ; the child is so much like her papa.” 

She followed the big bee from bush to bush. 


205 


The: Garden oe Faith. 


and when it flew over the wall and out into the 
big, black woods she ran laughingly through the 
little gate in the hedge, and gave a merry chase. 
Past the big bush where the bold, pugnacious 
wren was wont to build its nest she started — and 
then stopped short. She forgot the “big buzzy 
black fing,” instanter for here was Crispus, the 
tri-colored cat, fighting, or trying to fight with 
Papa Wren. 

Mr. Wren was making quick little dives down 
upon the cat’s back, and just as quickly darting 
back to his bush, when our baby took a hand in 
the game. With quick fingers she tore the large 
mass of heterogeneous material from its place on 
the low thicket, destroying the nest completely, 
and driving Mama Wren from one bush to an- 
other, with rapid motions of the wings. Papa 
Wren looked on in anger. His bill was pointed, 
slender and slightly curved. His wings were 
short and rounded. His plumage was dull, and 
he carried his short tail erect. He made a hasty 
dive and landed on the tiny maid’s back. 

Away went the little girl as fast as her chubby 
legs could carry her, and she did not stop until she 
came to a place where nature had builded an 
arbor as best pleased her, and had scented it with 
her sweetest perfume. Here, upon a bed of the 
softest, green grass she curled herself, to think 


206 


Faith^ Hope and Charity. 

of other things than bees and birds. 

An hour later, an anxious father, and a still 
more anxious grandpa sat out in search of the 
little one, leaving behind them, in the garden of 
Faith, two women with solicitious hearts. 

Sometime later, as Keith climbed Honey hill, 
and stopped near the tottering, decayed, ram- 
shackle log house, he was startled to hear the 
sound of a voice coming from within. 

Creeping silently to the paneless window he 
looked into a little back room from whose walls 
the clinking was crumbling from between the logs, 
and in the rear, the roof had fallen in. Upon a 
dirty, worn pallet in a corner lay an elderly man, 
apparently dying. His coarse, sensual mouth 
hung loose, and his languid, watery eyes looked 
staringly from between inflammed lids. Alto- 
gether, the man’s looks bespoke of a life spent in 
shame and dissipation. 

In a half frightened manner a negro sat near 
the lowly bed. “Dis am a po’ horsepital, boss. 
Befo’ Gawd, dis am a po’ place to lib. Nevah 
seed de likes ob it in all my bo’n days. De sho’ 
must be hants aroun’ dis al’ shack.” 

“A drink — a drink,” murmured the sick man. 

'‘Yas, Mistah LaVelle, I’ll gib yo’ a drink, I 
sho’ will.'' 


207 


The Garden oe Faith. 


“A fresh — drink — from the — spring/^ said the 
dying man as the negro arose. 

With fear depicted upon his every feature the 
black man went from the room, passing through 
an opening where a rude door hung sagging by 
one rusty hinge. 

On the outside Keith Barrington was silently 
praying — praying for grace to forgive this dying 
man. Praying that God would have mercy upon 
his own soul, just to the extent that he was able 
to meet clemency to his ill, and sin-sick brother, 
“Because, God,” he said, “if I am deficient in 
grace to the degree that I cannot forgive this 
one who in his weakness wronged me, I know that 
Thou wilt bestow but little mercy upon me when 
I come into the kingdom of Thy dear Son.” 
Trembling in every limb, he walked slowly 
through the weeds and brambles, and entered into 
the presence of his dying fellowman. 

Just as Keith entered the room and took the 
thin, emaciated hands of John FaVelle in his own 
vigorous ones, at the same time soothing him with 
tender, loving and comforting words; pointing 
him in kindness, to the way of God and to His 
merciful and never dying love, Robert Barring- 
ton, M. D., came in sight of his wandering child. 

Beneath the vine covered arbor the little one 
was amusing herself by tossing small stones up 


208 


Faith^ Hope: and Charity. 

into the trees, and as she threw each one she 
cried, '‘Hold it ’is time.” 

The Doctor stopped to feast his eyes upon the 
winsome picture. Then it was that the tiny miss 
threw a stone with all her might, crying, "If 
you don’t keep it ’is time I won’t nevah play wif 
yo’ no mo’.” Scarcely had the words ended, than 
back came the missle striking her plump on the 
head. 

At first, the little one stood perfectly still, and 
no sound came from her tightly closed lips, then, 
shutting her little fists up tight she cried in anger, 
‘T hate yo’ God — an’ I — ’ist won’t play wif’ yo’ 
no mo’.” 

"Tut, tut, what’s the matter with daddy’s girl?” 
asked Robert as he took the baby in his arms. 

"O, daddy, God’s so bad to me. He hitted me 
wif a stone.” 

"Why, dearie, you threw that stone, didn’t 
you ?” 

"Yeth, I fro wed it up, but God always catches 
’em an’ frows ’em back — an’ ’is time He frowed 
it right at me — b — ooo — ho — o.” 

With long, quick strides the man carried his 
dimpled darling back to the waiting ones in the 
garden, and as he went, he soothed her with 
honeyed words. 

Near the bush where the wren now sang in 
209 


The; Garde;n or Faith. 


disturbed tones, he met George — , George the 
half wit — -George the tender hearted. ‘T cal-late 
we ort to be a thankin’ God fur lettin’ us find 
Charity. I reckon I ’llowed she was plumb stole,” 
he said as he reached his arms for his idol. 

All through the lonely hours of that night, 
Keith sat by the rude pallet of John FaVelle. It 
was far toward morning when the sick man 
stirred, and said, “You have been kind — oh so 
kind. You have showed me that there is mercy 
for even a poor, sin-stained wretch like me.” 

‘T have only done as God would have me do.” 

“It is all true, my friend. It is all true. God 
is just, and there is a heaven. There is a kingdom 
where Christ will reign in righteousness. What 
I have failed to see here, I will see there. What 
knowledge I now lack, I will there gain, because 
all men shall be brought to a full knowledge. Is 
that not true ?” 

“It is true. There we shall no longer teach 
every man his brother, for we shall all know, 
from the least of us to the greatest.” 

“O, my friend, — let — me — hold — ^your hand. 
There, that — is right. Yes, I know, — after — a 
long, long sleep — I shall awaken — to find — Christ 
— and Petina — and — Faith — and you ; and God — 
will wipe — all tears from my eyes. My — friend — 
Christ came to save — rthat which — was lost, and — 


210 


Faith^ Hope and Charity. 

that’s — me.” The voice filled, and Keith hastened 
to raise the head from the dirty pillow. 

He looked long, and pityingly upon the now 
peaceful looking face, and tenderly he laid the 
man down. His throat was tight with unshed 
tears, and he murmured, “O, Christ have mercy 
upon his poor soul when he comes before Thy 
throne.” 

The negro came into the room, followed by 
Big George Fee, and several hill’s people. Keith 
had sent for them, that he might leave to learn 
something of his lost one. 

When Keith arrived home and told our friends 
of the affair up on Honey hill, Robert questioned, 
'‘Father, why did you not send for me?” 

“What need, my son? There are places where 
you would be needed, but this was not one.” 

As the rays of the morning sun kissed the 
fringe of trees up on Honey hill, and his beautiful 
tints of red and gold touchel the roses in Faith’s 
garden, Keith and Faith followed the path leading 
to the big bush in the corner, and here, Keith 
said, “It was pitiful, the way he died there, alone, 
with no one to love him — without Faith, without 
Hope, or even little, dimpled Charity.’" 


211 

































Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 



A S’ 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
Ill Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 




t 



